


Coveted

by WillowTroy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alpha Chris Argent, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, But not by the au's standards, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, The Hale Family, This was meant to be porn but the plot bunny ran away with me, Threesome - M/M/M, We're gonna get kinky here, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 110,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowTroy/pseuds/WillowTroy
Summary: Alphas Chris and Peter have been happily mated for years, but have finally reached a degree of success that could make every alpha’s greatest dream come true: adopting their very own omega.Not every alpha is so fortunate to qualify, and even fewer meet the personal standards of the omegas they apply for. Chris and Peter are prepared to pull out all the stops to get their ideal mate and breeding partner.Unfortunately, Stiles might be too stubborn and melodramatic to be impressed, even for his own good.A spin-off sorta inspired by my oneshot, The Omega Home. This one has way more plot though... and more sex. ;)
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 473
Kudos: 1836





	1. One

The first time was right after Chris broke ties with his bigoted family and their vast fortune. At the time, it had seemed like an impossible daydream, some unattainable, lofty goal to keep their spirits up during the rough patch that followed while Chris fought to establish himself outside his father’s shadow.

The second time, Chris had just landed his first independent arms sale, due in no small part to Peter’s connections to the local PD finally outweighing Gerard Argent’s insidious blockading. It was still a lofty dream, almost a joke really.

The third time hadn’t been till another three years later. Three years, while their playful little dream fell way down the priority list while Peter worked his way into a partner position at his firm and Chris made an international name for himself. The topic came up quite by accident, a casual mention by a casual friend during an evening out.

Suddenly, it was no longer a fantasy to entertain their errant, wishful minds. It was a _possibility_.

The fourth time was when they decided to buy a house. It was time to grow up, leave the luxury apartment building and at least give themselves the option to host business contacts with a degree of respectability. They kept the idea not quite at the front of their minds as they toured properties.

From there, they spoke of it frequently. Fantasizing. Daydreaming. Planning.

They could afford it now, financially and emotionally. They knew they were capable and ready to do it. And yet… it still didn’t feel real.

They moved into the house, clear across town from the woodsy manor Peter had grown up in. They painted the walls and furnished it. Peter spent a small fortune supplementing the artwork they’d brought from their old place and Chris kitted out the garage for securing inventory and his personal collection.

They filled their bedroom with a brand new, giant, reinforced mahogany bed. They decorated the guestroom, the baths, Peter’s office, and all the rest. The third, smallest bedroom was mostly storage, but they’d painted the walls a nice, seafoam green with white trim.

They didn’t speak about it again for a long while and the fourth bedroom remained empty and untouched. Right until it wasn’t.

“Chris?” Peter asked slowly as he set his briefcase on the table.

His mate stood in the kitchen, leaning a lean hip on the counter as he clenched his folded arms and glared toward the vicinity of his feet in deep thought.

Peter left the case where it landed and loosened his tie as he neared the other man. “Christopher?”

Sky blue eyes darted to his face and the stern expression eased. “Hey. Welcome home.”

“Hey yourself,” Peter stepped into Chris’ arms with the ease of familiarity. “What’s put that look on your face, Chris?”

A tight smile answered him, along with the words: “Your sister gave us an early anniversary gift.”

Peter leaned back, Chris’ hands tightening on his hips to keep him close. “Oh? What horrendous bad taste did Talia subject us to this time?”

Usually, Peter could roll his eyes and snidely thank his sister and Pack Alpha for her back-handed compliments and equally suspicious gifts. Usually, Talia’s particular brand of sisterly affection didn’t put that sort of deeply introspective look on his human mate’s face.

Chris shrugged, his shoulders tight and his scent confusingly all over the place.

“Christopher.” Peter arched a brow expectantly.

“Come see for yourself,” he answered, patting Peter’s ass once with both hands before steering him out of the kitchen.

They trod down the hall, past the office and main bathroom and made their way upstairs. They stopped in front of the one door that hadn’t been opened in the months since they moved in.

“Christopher?” Peter scoffed, tone perturbed and incredulous.

“Just… look,”

Chris reached around him and opened the door. Peter didn’t go in, and his mate’s arm settled around his shoulders like he knew there’d be no need.

Peter blinked. “What is that?”

Chris rested his chin on Peter’s shoulder and shrugged. “Well. It’s breeding bench.”

“I can see that. What is it doing in our house?”

“Your sister brought it by while I was finishing up in the garage this afternoon.”

It was a fine piece of furniture, if he was being honest, all dark wood and darker leather padding. There were cushioned cuffs with thick metal hardware and complete with four shiny padlocks. The key hung innocently from the right wrist lock.

It was beautiful, doubtlessly expensive. It made Peter sick.

“She didn’t buy this for us,” he said confidently, crossing his arms. “She couldn’t afford it, and if she could she sure as hell wouldn’t be wasting it on us. On… this.”

“If I’d known what she was brining, I wouldn’t have let her in the door with it.” Chris promised, kissing the side of Peter’s neck and rubbing his arm in commiseration.

Peter had never talked to Talia, or any of the Pack for that matter, about his and Chris’ desire for an omega. They’d barely gotten to the point where it seemed like a reasonable thing to start tentatively exploring. Even if they were signing the adoption forms tomorrow, Peter wouldn’t have told the Pack.

“I’m going to kill her,” he said with a wistful sigh.

Chris snorted dubiously.

“How…” he took a deep, calming breath, “how did she even know what this room was reserved for?”

Chris shrugged. “She’s not stupid. Two mated alphas, well into their thirties with a decent income, buy an unnecessarily large house…. And it’s not like the Pack hasn’t been around. They’ve notice we haven’t done anything with the room. It’s not rocket science.”

Peter chaffed at the thought that Talia would surmise anything so important from him without his permission.

“I’m going to kill her,”

“You are not,”

Chris reached around him to close the door before the sight could give his mate any bright ideas. It did nothing to stop Peter from fuming at the knowledge that such a thing was in his home.

“A breeding bench!?” He cried, stomping down the stairs with Chris’ hands rubbing his shoulders. “A fucking breeding bench!? What kind of alphas does she take us for!?”

“I’m sure she doesn’t actually expect us to use it,” Chris said, a hint of humor in his voice.

“Are you kidding me, Christopher!?” Peter rounded on him, “This is the same woman who put her own daughter on Heat suppressants,”

Chris winced. “Yeah, but… that was misguided. A breeding bench is so….”

“Obsolete?” Peter supplied helpfully. “Unnecessary? Cruel, perhaps?”

Chris kissed his forehead and assured him, “All of the above.”

Peter tucked his fingers into his mate’s waistband and tugged, eyeing Chris’ calm face. “… You would never use one…?”

Chris gave him an unimpressed stare. “Do you even need to ask?”

“Course not.” Peter sighed, tugging with more purpose. “But it’s nice to know we’re on the same page.”

The older man stepped closer obligingly till they were hip-to-hip and sharing breath. “About that…”

“Hm?” Peter prompted, nuzzling his jaw invitingly.

“I want to make sure we’re on the same page,” Chris murmured against his lip before taking a deliberate step back.

Peter sighed as he recognized Chris’s mellow, I-just-wanna-talk face.

Smiling, the human alpha interrupted his pity-party with: “I want to adopt an omega.”

Peter’s spine stiffened before his brain fully caught up. He blinked and something hot coiled deep in his gut. “Oh? You mean… now?”

Chris’ head bobbed a little. “Maybe not right now. But I’d like to start looking. Take our time. Find the right one.”

“So…” Peter cleared his throat and ignored the flutter of excitement in his chest, “If, hypothetically, we found this right one tomorrow…?”

“Then I’d like to sign the paperwork tomorrow,” Chris smirked, “Hypothetically.”

“Well then,” Peter said warmly, “Good thing we’re on the same page.”

~!~

“I’m sorry, kiddo,”

Stiles sniffed and hugged his pillow tighter to his chest as he sank further into the passenger’s seat of his dad’s patrol car. He stared out the window, unseeing and not really aware of anything beyond the glass.

“Stiles…” Noah sighed as the car jolted to a stop at a red light, “You’re an adult omega now…”

“Yeah. I know,” Stiles snipped, wiping the snot starting to trickle from his nose.

“I wish… kid, you got to know I would keep you if I could.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, hugged his pillow harder. He wished he magically become a beta.

“I just can’t afford the upkeep, Stiles. I’m sorry.” A heavy hand landed on his knee, squeezing him nowhere near as tight as his son was the pillow. “You deserve better than that. You deserve a home and an alpha who can give you everything you need—”

“I need my dad,” Stiles cried, knocking the hand off his leg. “I need my friends, and my _life_.”

For a long, awkward moment the only sound in the patrol car was his heartache and despair. He cried big, nasty sobs, and no amount of burying his face in his security pillow would stifle the noise.

“I know that’s what you want,” Noah said eventually, in that calm, firm tone he used when collecting a victim’s statement, “And to some degree, I think you’ll still have all of that. But Stiles… this, all of this, it’s part of growing up.”

“You,” Stiles bit out through halting breaths, “You say… that like… like it’s inevitable.”

“…It is,” Noah admitted softly, steering the car through the intersection smoothly, like it was any other day, any regular old drive around town.

Stiles pressed his temple to the cool window and wracked his brain for something—anything—to say or do. He needed to convince his dad to turn around, to bring him back home. He only had two bags and a pillow, for crying out loud; they could unpack in half an hour and pretend it never happened.

He spent his last few minutes with his father, the only alpha he had ever really known, stewing in anxiety.

The car rolled to a stop, jerked as Noah shifted it into park.

Stiles lifted his head and glared at the white, institutional face of The Halfway House. There was a large metal gate between them and it, and Stiles prayed it stayed closed. Maybe they were closed and his dad would have to take him back.

Noah rolled down his window and hit the gate’s call button.

“Welcome to The Halfway House for the greater Southern California area.” Said a crisp, smooth female voice, “Please state your name, dynamic and purpose for your visit today,”

Clearing his throat, Noah answered, “Noah Stilinski, alpha. Uh… I have an appointment.”

“What is the purpose for your appointment, sir?”

“I’m… I brought my son. He’s an omega.”

“I understand,” she said without missing a beat, “Please park in blue lot nearest the entrance. Do your require assistance, either with luggage or the omega?”

“Oh, no. No, that’s not necessary.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll have a caretaker meet you at the door.”

There was a loud, sharp beep, and Stiles watched in anger as the gates slid open.

“It won’t be so bad,” Noah assured him, parking within spitting distance of the building’s double doors. “This time next week, you’ll be living large in a mansion, eating your weight in limitless curly fries and forgetting all about life in little ol’ Beacon Hills.”

He got out of the car and pulled Stiles’ duffle bag and rolling carry-on from the trunk. When he’d done that and Stiles was still in the car, he opened the door and stood back, motioning grandly for Stiles to get out.

Behind his dad’s bulk, Stiles saw two people step out of the building, a woman in a suit and a guy in scrubs.

Stiles scrubbed his sleeve over his messy face and climbed out of the car. “You forgot the part where I’ll be barefoot and pregnant the week after,” he sneered.

Noah sighed. “You have choices, Stiles.” 

“News to me,” Stiles glared, hugging his pillow to his chest like a shield.

“Mr. Stilinski?” The woman said as they joined her on the front step. She held out her hand with a professional smile, sharp eyes darting between Stiles and his father.

Noah hoisted Stiles’ duffle higher on his shoulder to shake her hand. “Thank you, Ms…?”

“Martin,” she replied, then turned her gaze on Stiles. “And you, young man, can call me Natalie. Welcome to The Halfway House, Stiles.” 

Stiles hated her immediately, mainly because every instinct he had told him she was likeable. He wasn’t close enough for his human nose to tell for sure, but she had the look and bearing of a confident, stalwart alpha. He wanted to cuddle into her side and let her pet him to sleep.

Also, she was pretty. A good generation older, but that was hardly a turn-off for most omegas, Stiles included.

Any other day, he would have blushed and stammered upon meeting such a person. Today, Stiles only felt defensive.

“No thanks, Ms. Martin,” he sniffled defiantly, though he couldn’t quite make himself meet her eye.

She gave a small, humorless chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Noah said, sighing, “He’s not usually this abrasive with strangers…”

“It’s fine,” Natalie interrupted, “It’s a tough day for him. I don’t take it personally.”

“Still,” Noah paused, giving Stiles a concerned once-over, “I… I don’t want his current attitude to interfere…”

“It makes no difference to us,” Natalie explained, smiling and agreeable, “We’ll give him time to adjust to being away from home, and when he’s ready, we’ll match him up with an alpha who appreciates that… _attitude_ , as you call it,”

“Doubtful,” Stiles muttered.

Her smile didn’t dim. “This isn’t the 1950s, Stiles. We don’t facilitate nonconsensual matings, and everything we do is to ensure your continued health and wellbeing. In time, you’ll appreciate that.”

“Yeah? Before or after I’m brainwashed into being a happy little baby maker?”

The big, scrub-clad guy snorted, glaring at him with arms, thick and bulging, crossed over his chest. Stiles backed up into his dad’s side.

For her part, Natalie didn’t look offended or surprised by the comment. “If you don’t want to breed, Stiles, we will make sure you’re matched with a like-minded alpha,”

“He’s just being difficult,” Noah said, grabbing the back of Stile’s shirt and ushering him forward to follow the caretaker into the building. “He wants kids, really. He’s wanted kids since he was a kid,”

“Maybe I changed my mind,” Stiles frowned and swatted Noah’s side with his pillow, “I should be allowed to do that,”

“Of course,” Natalia agreed patiently. “Which is why you can access your Halfway profile at any time while in residence to update your preferences. Opinions and perspectives that change beyond our walls are a matter for you and your mate to address, as all partners must.”

“See, kiddo,” Noah said with forced cheer, “It’s not so bad,”

They followed Natalie to a large, chrome counter where a young woman sat in front of a computer, wearing a headset.

“This is Tracy, our receptionist,” Natalie introduced as she slid behind another computer.

Tracy barely glanced at them, her attention focused on her screen. The big and intimidating orderly disappeared through a side door in equally dismissive fashion. What a welcoming bunch, indeed.

Stiles raised his pillow and hid the lower half of his face behind it, breathing in the scent of Home desperately. He couldn’t really be here. This couldn’t really be happening.

“Alright, Mr. Stilinski,” Natalie slid a clipboard and pen across the counter. Stiles caught a glance at a very full sheet of checklists and blank lines. “The first page is asking for pertinent family health history and contact information. The second document is the release form, legally relinquishing your rights as his alpha-sire. The third formally turns those rights over to the state, and the Halfway House specifically, for the sole and limited purpose of transferring those rights to an individual alpha of your son’s choosing. Both of those require your signature.

“And for you,” Natalie turned to Stiles and held out a tablet. “While your father takes care of the boring legalities, you can start filling out your Halfway profile. Don’t worry about anything beyond the basics right now. You’ll have plenty of time to make your baby-making preferences clear later on.”

And Stiles, damn him, took the tablet in a shaking hand. It didn’t feel like a choice.

~!~

The next day while Peter was at work, Chris took care of Talia’s pricy anniversary gift. He disassembled it in a hurry, and in doing so discovered that the wrist and ankle cuffs were lined in smooth leather that was wonderfully soft and thickly padded underneath. Without more than a moment’s hesitation, he stowed the cuffs in the empty room’s closet and carted the rest outback.

He set it on fire.

One of the things that had caught Chris’ eye first about the house was the large firepit set into the low stone wall that bordered the back yard. In the six months since they moved in, he’d lit it up only a handful of times. It was deeply satisfying to watch it turn Talia’s fancy breeding bench into so much ash.

It was still burning when Peter came home in the early evening.

“My God,” Peter sounded awed as he joined Chris in the lounge chairs by the fire. “I’m mated to a genius. Is that the entire thing?”

Chris sipped from his glass of scotch with one hand and casually raised the final length of wood with the other. He thought it had been a support beam for a knee rest, but he didn’t actually care to remember.

“I saved this one for you,” he said nonchalantly.

Peter snatched it up with a sneaky little smirk. “I love you,”

“I know,” Chris hid his own grin with another sip, “By the way, I kept the cuffs, too. They’re good quality, and I can think of a few ways we might use them,”

Peter hummed, considering that thought as carefully as he considered where to thrust the final offending piece of wood.

“I contacted The Halfway House too,” Chris continued, “They’re fully booked for the next month, but they emailed me an application and told me we could have access to the database as early as this weekend,”

“Excellent,” Peter said cheerily.

He turned the wood over in his hand for a moment, then thrust it into the heart of the fire with gusto. Chris wondered if he was picturing Talia’s face in the flames.

Deed done, Peter turned on his heel and prowled over to straddle Chris’ thighs. “Do we have an appointment in a month then?”

Chris nodded, “On the third.”

Peter leaned forward, hands braced dangerously low on Chris’ hips with his mouth open expectantly. With a fond smile, Chris lifted his glass to his lover’s lips and fed him a mouthful. Peter moaned and his ass slid further up Chris’ lap.

Chris retrieved the glass for his own thirst, watching the glow of the flames cast a spectacular backlight on his devilishly charming mate.

“So we’ll get a look at the omegas available this weekend, hm?” Peter prompted, slipping free of his tie and letting the silk fall to the grass.

“Ah-hm,” Chris hummed in agreement as he set his glass down on the side table. His other hand was already plucking at Peter’s belt.

“Think we’ll find the perfect little doe-eyed beauty on the first day?”

Peter unbuttoned his cuffs and pulled his dress shirt over his head a fluid arch. The fire’s light danced over his solidly-built torso, casting delicious shadows over thick muscle and smooth skin. Peter was gorgeous, and he moved like he knew it.

“Maybe not the first day,” Chris admitted distractedly as he unzipped Peter’s slacks. “I think we should take our time, do it right.”

Peter fairly purred as Chris pulled his cock free of his briefs. Like the rest of him, Peter’s penis was a work of art, the gold standard of alpha cock. He was long and thick, uncut with a graceful arch upward. Perfect.

“Yeah,” Chris whispered hotly, stroking, “We give each little darling due consideration, but I’m only interested in the best.”

Peter nodded, hips pushing into his grasp on the retreat and his own hand pulling at the fly of Chris’ jeans.

“I want someone _tight_ ,” Chris squeezed as he hissed that last word.

Peter moaned, “Yes. Someone who’d look good sitting on your cock.”

“A boy,” Chris added, mind reverting back to the long-held fantasy omega as the majority of blood ran south.

“Yes,” Peter agreed, rising onto his knees so his own weight couldn’t stop him from yanking Chris’ pants down.

“A boy omega, with a tight little hole,” Chris’ words came out rough.

He couldn’t help himself. They’d gotten off together while fantasizing, hell, they’d gotten off together while watching omega porn, but they’d never been so close to actually going through with it. His blood was running hot, had been since he got the application in his inbox, and Peter looked so damn good in that firelight. Hungrily, he shoved his hands down the back of Peter’s dress pants, grabbed hold and pulled the man on top of him till their exposed cocks were nicely aligned.

“Fuck,” Chris groaned, hips jerking up.

“Yes,” Peter hissed, nipping at his lover’s jaw and hunching so he could move with intention. “Yes, Chris. We’ll get a pretty boy and we’ll fill him up so… so…ugh.” Peter shuddered as they rocked together, “So good. We’ll… we’ll fuck him so good,”

Chris grabbed a fistful of Peter’s hair and crashed their mouths together. It was a clashing, messy kiss, more tongue and saliva than lips and caresses. It was perfect, exactly what he wanted as they rutted against each other like animals, too brainless to consider slowing down enough to get properly naked.

“Want it,” Peter mumbled into his mouth, “I want him. A boy we can open up on my cock, then yours.”

“We’ll take turns,”

“So many turns,”

“I want to see his face when you knot him.” Chris added, feeding into the frenzy.

“I want to watch his _hole_ when you knot him,” Peter countered, breathless as his cock wept precum all over Chris’s groin and belly.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. A lot of that,” 

God, but Chris couldn’t wait to knot their omega. He hadn’t popped a knot since he’d finished puberty and his body had finally learned what the damn thing was for. An omega would make him knot though.

Their omega was going to make both of them knot. Over and over and over again, till they were sore and the sweet little thing was sated and content.

It was over quickly, once Chris’ brain tripped down that path. Contrary to what he’d planned when Peter first crawled into his lap, they didn’t take their time. With a few more hard thrusts and panting groans, Chris felt his body tense and his cock kicked as he came.

Above him, Peter moaned loudly. He tossed his head back and those impressive abdominals flexed hard with the force of his orgasm.

Chris shuffled sideways to make room for his mate to collapse next to him on the lounge chair. They were both panting heavily, eyes bright and lively.

“We’re going to spoil our boy,” Peter said proudly, snuggling onto Chris’ chest.

Chris kissed his hair and nodded. “We should turn that room into a functional Heat bunker. He’ll sleep with us otherwise,”

“I’ll take him shopping,” Peter mumbled smugly against his throat. “Anything he wants. Clothes, electronics. Maybe his own car someday, if he wants to learn to drive,”

Chris chuckled, “He’ll be the best dressed omega in the state, if you can help it,”

“Damn right,”

Chris sighed and closed his eyes, trying to imagine this faceless boy who would let them lavish him with affection and care.

“We are going to make him so happy,” Chris whispered, heartfelt and excited.


	2. Two

The Halfway House for Northern California proudly harbored a grand total of thirty-five omegas. Twenty-nine of them were available for adoption. All but three of them were wanting to mate and subsequently breed. The remaining twenty-six included nineteen girls. That was as far as the automatic elimination process got them.

Less than twenty minutes after receiving their credentials to the Halfway’s database, Chris and Peter had narrowed their search down to seven hopefuls.

Two hours later, and they’d pursued all seven profiles, pictures and all.

“Oh, but he’s so gorgeous,” Peter mused appreciatively.

They’d moved to the couch not long ago, settling side-by-side with Chris’ laptop perched between their laps. The screen currently showed off the picture of a fine boned, slender blond. At twenty years old, Jackson was a bit older than the average state-harbored omega, which meant he’d either been terribly ill at the point his Heats started, or he’d been born into a wealthy family who had paid the steep cost of keeping an unmated omega. Eyeing the flawless, well-shaped body and cocky smirk filling the screen, Chris was certain of the latter.

“It’s a shame they don’t give you a full view,” Chris commented, his cursor swiping over the skimpy underwear that was all that preserved the subject’s questionable modesty.

“Yes, well,” Peter shrugged, “If they did, they’d be hit with a lawsuit for illegal pornography in a heartbeat. Any alpha with access to the system could take screen shots and mass produce for profit. Those tiny briefs are the only thing keeping the image from being worth thousands.”

“Plus, they need to leave something to the imagination,” Chris teased.

“Indeed,” Peter agreed, licking his lips.

Chris amended, “I’m almost tempted to apply just for the chance to see his confirmation exam,”

Peter laughed sharply, “Don’t joke. We don’t want this one.”

“Oh?”

“Of course not. Look at his pictures: there’s nothing sweet about him. He’s pure ego and so obviously high maintenance,”

Chris chuckled and reminded his lover, “Omegas _are_ high maintenance,”

Peter nudged him with an elbow. “You can’t compare biological demands to personality flaws.”

“Fair enough. What about this one.”

Chris switched screens back to the other blonde who’d caught their eyes. A tall, curly-haired blonde filled the screen. Frustratingly, dear Isaac did not have any nearly-nude photos. There was one where he’d lost his shirt, but the boy had hugged himself hard, a shy smile on his face as he defeated the purpose of the skin shot.

“If that’s not a sweet boy, I don’t know what is,”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Sweet, yes. Also painfully shy and textbook meek. I want an omega with some _passion_ ,”

“I can get behind that,” Chris agreed, already imagining their faceless omega with fiery eyes. “He should be smart to,”

“Obviously,”

~!~

There were seventeen omegas at the local Halfway House, and Stiles was one of three of them who was not yet listed like a prize for sale in the state database. After a full week, Stiles was still the newest resident, and he was constantly perturbed at the knowledge that omegas routinely spent the better part of a full month between long-term homes. He always imagined the whole deal going down quick, a week at most, with greedy, desperate alphas snatching up the first omega they could get their hands on.

He had never been more wrong.

Lydia, Natalie’s daughter, was the longest standing (read: reigning) omega in the whole place. She’d been there a total of four weeks and two days when Stiles showed up. The only reason she was still there was no one’s business but her own. Her Heats were mild like that, and of all the omegas in the building she alone seemed unbothered by the ever-pressing, often desperate need for a strong alpha’s influence.

She was in no rush to leave, despite constant suitors vying for her favor. Surprisingly, she wasn’t the only one.

There were abuse survivors here, and even a Human Right’s activist who refused to breed and was expected to stick around for months before they found him a suitable alpha. Each of them was allowed to stay for as long as they needed, until they found a home and an alpha who could handle them safely and respect their boundaries.

It sounded like a pipe dream. Stiles only accepted the well-intended mission statement at face value after he met Isaac.

Isaac was twenty-two years old, and he’d been back at the Halfway House for a total of two weeks. He was a cautionary example of what could happen when an omega mated the wrong alpha. Isaac was fortunately alive, his abusive mate in prison, and now his pool of suitors was limited to alphas with experience with trauma victims. In a bid to widen that pool of choice, Isaac was listed on every Halfway House database across the country. 

It was relatively rare, the abuse of an omega, but hardly unheard of. Alphas were hardwired to dominate and protect, just as omegas had the need to submit. That didn’t mean there weren’t people whose wires were crossed or twisted.

Stiles wasn’t going to be like Isaac though.

“Really, Stiles?” Natalie asked, unimpressed with her hands on her hips.

“Really, really,” he said earnestly.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Lydia provided, eyes on her magazine. “I want it added to my profile too,”

Natalie lifted her face skyward and sighed. “Of course you do,”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Stiles said, pushing his page of chicken scratch closer toward the caretaker. “This should be standard procedure, don’t you think.”

“We already do a basic background check on every alpha registrant,” she said patiently.

“Yeah, but a _criminal_ background check is so much more thorough!”

“And more expensive and largely unnecessary,”

“Oh? Would it have been _unnecessary_ if you’d known Isaac’s ex spent a night in jail for battery and threats of sexual violence? No! Instead, all you knew is that he spent one night in jail when he was in college and that wasn’t enough to send up a red flag. I won’t agree to meet any alpha who can’t pass a criminal background check; either he has nothing to hide or he’s too inept to cover his tracks. Both cases make him not worth my time.”

“Stiles,” Natalie sat back in her seat, fingers laced together over her knee, “do you ever think them over before letting the words spill out of your mouth?”

“I’m more of an external processor,” he readily admitted.

Natalie pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re serious about this? You won’t meet with _anyone_ without a full criminal background check?”

“Not a chance.”

She sighed.

“I like the way you think, Stilinski,” Lydia chimed in, tossing her magazine onto the side table. “Let’s do it. Though in my case, I’m satisfied if they’ll sign the permission form, you don’t actually have to spend state money following through.”

Natalie glanced at Stiles hopefully, opening her mouth.

“No way. No.” Stiles said sharply before she could speak. “I want the full background check. Hell, make the alpha pay for it. If he’s serious, I’m sure he will.”

“Do you have any idea how much money your mate will have to invest in you already?” Natalie glared at him like he was being intentionally thick. “We have a minimum income threshold just to register for our database.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed readily, “My dad’s practically bankrupt just for keeping my healthy the past four months. I don’t need a figure to know alphas who can afford an omega are rolling in green, alright. The background check would be chump change to these guys.”

“Face it, Mom,” Lydia said lazily, without a care in the world, “He has you backed in a corner. The sooner you agree and get him mated, the less expensive the bill he accrues for the state.”

Natalie sighed.

Stiles pumped his fist in the air. “Stilinski for the win!”

“Fine. But,” she leveled a look at him full of Alpha sternness and command, “I want you to do a full length video for your online profile.”

Stiles cringed. “Five minutes,”

“Ten. Final offer.”

He groaned and stuck out his hand. They shook on it.

“Great,” Natalie decreed, suddenly happier, “I’ll see you downstairs tomorrow morning at nine.”

“Yeah, about that… I was thinking I could pencil you in next week…”

“Nope. Tomorrow. You’ve acclimated just fine. If your negotiating extra expenses for your matches, you’re more than ready to be someone else’ problem.”

He wanted to glare and fight her on it, but found himself pouting instead. Truth be told, his dad had been right: The Halfway House wasn’t all that bad. Maybe it was the result of being surrounded twenty-four-seven by other omegas with literal raging libidos and various degrees of baby-fever, but Stiles wasn’t quite so scared of mating as he had been a week ago.

He wasn’t desperate for it. Not yet. He was starting to appreciate the likelihood of getting there though.

The artificial alpha pheromones and supplements here weren’t quite as good as the private sector prescriptions Noah had been filling for him since he turned sixteen. Stiles already hated the downgrade, and couldn’t imagine settling for this when the real deal was readily available. 

Besides. It turned out Noah really was considering bankruptcy, and wasn’t that a guilt-ridden eye-opener.

The hard part was over, after all. He’d already said goodbye to his dad and his childhood a week ago.

~!~

Another week flew by, and Peter found himself checking the Halfway’s online portal at least twice a day. It wasn’t until that Saturday that he realized he was doing it out of low-key anxiety rather than curiosity.

“We’re going to end up postponing our appointment at this rate,” he grumbled over dinner.

Chris paused, a bite of steak halfway to his mouth. “Why’s that?”

Peter turned his smart phone around and slide it across the tabletop. “That Jackson welp is the best they’ve got, and I’m convinced we can do better. Why waste our time driving two hours south to interview an omega we’re barely interested in.”

The human alpha peered at the screen, Peter glaring right along at the list of the twenty-nine names. As they watched, one of the names disappeared from; a newly mated omega deleted from the system, no doubt.

“That’s still a couple weeks away,” Chris said calmly, returning attention to his food. “There’s always a chance they’ll have someone else available.”

He considered that, tried to push down the impatience that had been heating to a boil inside him since the moment Chris proposed an concrete plan to finally do this. Peter never had been the best at controlling his desires though.

“Fine,” he said shortly, eyes narrowing in thought.

Chris waited patiently, expectant smile on his face as he chewed a bite of salad.

“Or, instead of waiting for this mythical omega to show up,” Peter said with his most beguilingly salacious smirk, “We could cancel the appointment in favor of exploring the national database,”

Chris choked on his laughter and salad.

“It can’t hurt. Oh, honestly, Christopher, control yourself.”

The other man coughed, eyes bright. “I don’t think,” he croaked, shaking his head in amusement, “they’ll ever give any alpha access to the entire United State’s catalogue of unmated, matured omegas.”

Peter sighed melodramatically, “Fine, we’ll just ask for the West Coast’s records. Surely, they’ll let us widen the net a bit. Chris!” He leaned forward excitedly and clasped his mate’s wrist, “We could be the ideal mates for some lonely boy who’s only had subpar suitors to mope over! We just need the chance to find him,”

“And we will,” Chris’ chuckles calmed to something more serious. “If you want to call our case manager on Monday morning, I certainly won’t stop you from putting that silver tongue to work.”

Peter couldn’t resist an opening like that. “I’m sure,” he said, flicking out his tongue and wagging his eyebrows.

~!~

Stiles had been at The Halfway House over two weeks, listed for alpha perusal for one. He was starting to fret.

“I don’t understand,” he frowned at Natalie’s computer screen, feeling small in her spiffy reclining office chair.

She knelt down beside him, patting his arm. “Don’t get discouraged, Stiles. Sometimes, it just takes time to gain a little traction, and with the economy being what it is… there might not be that many alphas who meet your preferences looking right now—”

“No one….” Stiles murmured, not really hearing her, “Like… literally, not one alpha?”

This couldn’t be because he’d insisted on the background check. No way. He was an omega, young and ripe and willing to (eventually) breed. Omegas were rare and in demand. He should have had dozens of applications to reject by now.

“It happens sometimes,” Natalie said sympathetically. “There are a lot of variables. You’re not the only one who hasn’t had any new traction this week.”

He shook his head, scrunched his nose to fend off the impulse to cry. Freaking hormones, he’d never been such a crybaby before he’d reached Heat-age, and the change to his supplements wasn’t helping.

“Nothing new for them, nothing period for me,” he gripped, slouching back in the chair and pushing away from the desk.

She rubbed his arm again. “Try not to take it personally. Sometimes it just takes time….”

“Right. Sure.” He kicked at the desk leg, sending the chair spinning.

Natalie stopped him on the second rotation. “Stiles. You’re dad brought you here mid-cycle. Now, it’s still likely we’ll find you a great alpha in the next couple of days, but in case we don’t—”

Stiles slapped his hands over his face, groaning loud enough to drown her out. “No! No, no, no!” His hands slammed down on the armrests and he turned wide, frantic eyes on her, “Natalie! Please! I don’t want to have a Heat here. I _can’t_! The new supplements are bad enough already, I can already tell they won’t get me through a Heat. I’ll die, Natalie! Dead. D. E. A. D. _Dead_.”

She sighed, “You’ll survive. I won’t lie and say you’ll enjoy it, but—”

“Sooooo dead!” he whined.

“Stiles,”

She used that tone, the ones alphas used when they were exasperated and trying not to show it because they felt guilty for losing patience with an emotionally wrought omega. Stiles was quite familiar with it. It was different from the fully justified exasperated tone, the one that meant Stiles was being willfully unreasonable. He preferred that tone, usually the alphas deserved to use it. This tone just made him feel lame.

He wasn’t trying to be difficult—she knew he wasn’t—but he was an omega. His very nature was ruled by extreme hormonal responses, and he had a fair bit of anxiety on top of the usual dynamic chaos.

So he stopped whining. It was the least he could do, what with Natalie trying so hard to help him when she wasn’t even his alpha.

Just like that, his eyes started stinging.

“Sweetie,” she sighed, getting up to sit on her desk and loom over him compassionately. “I promise you, I will do everything I can to find you the right alpha and the right forever-home soon, but we need to have a contingency plan for your Heat,”

“I’m scared,” he admitted, wiping at his eyes, “Dad always got me an RN for my heats. I’ve never done it alone…”

She petted his hair gently, “Nurses specialized in Heat assistance are a god-send for private homes,” she agreed, voice sympathetic, “But they’re very costly, Stiles. Even if your father could afford one right now, he couldn’t supply them with the same quality supplements and drugs.”

He sniffed, “I know.”

“The ones we have here are enough to get you through safely,” Natalie promised, “I know it doesn’t feel adequate right now, but during a Heat we double the supplement dosage, triple if necessary, and we keep the artificial pheromones filtering from a humidifier the entire time. It’ll be rough, but it’ll get you through without harm. We haven’t lost an omega to Estrus Sickness in decades, Stiles. I’ve seen your medical history, you won’t be the one to break that record,”

He didn’t feel particularly relieved. It sounded awful.

“Sounds like hell.” He sniffled.

“I know,” her voice was soft as she carded her fingers through his hair, maintaining long, measured strokes and a soothing rhythm. “But we’ll have toys, and the orderly’s can help you with them if you can’t manage on your own.”

Lydia managed on her own. Stiles was definitely _not_ Lydia.

“Is there anything I can do,” he murmured, head bowed as he fidgeted with the hem of his sweatshirt, submissive and dejected, “I could remove the criminal check—”

“No.” she said firmly. “You are not going to compromise your long-term beliefs and expectations just to avoid a single uncomfortable Heat. Until it’s over, I’m blocking your access to your profile.”

Stiles met her eye then, dismayed and wounded. “But—!”

“No. It’s nonnegotiable.”

“There’s got to be something I can do to get someone’s attention!” He begged.

“Possibly, but not by risking an alpha who won’t meet your specific needs. The background check was important to you, and I’m sure it will be again when you’ve calmed down and are thinking clearly again.”

“Then what!? What do I do!?” His tears dried as anger and his trademark defiance surged. “Natalie, you have to help me find a mate. I can’t have a Heat here. I can’t.”

“Calm down. Stiles, sit and take a breath.”

Shit. He hadn’t even realized he’d jumped up. He became suddenly aware of the strained, harsh breathing and the full-body shake. His tears were gone, sure, but he was well on his way to anxiety attack anyway.

“Fuck!” He yelled, pulling at his hair.

She pushed his hands down and grabbed the back of his neck, squeezing. “Settle. Inhale for me. Deeper. Come on, try again. Good.”

She was good. Natalie intervened at the start, before he’d lost track of his own mind. Obviously, she would be well practiced at handling omegas, it being her job and all. His entire life, Noah had been the only alpha to pull him out of a downward spiral so effortlessly.

“Good boy,”

The warm praise and genuine alpha scent went straight to his little omega heart. He went loose in her hold, leaning into her chest and desperately trusting her to keep him standing. She let him breath her in for a moment, helped him calm and settle, before gently setting him back in the chair.

“Now,” she said magnanimously, “Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to put your profile on the regional access database; chances are, you’ll stay in CA, but even if you don’t, you’ll be close enough to your father to still visit a few times every year.”

Stiles nodded, unbelievably relieved by her matter-of-fact business voice. He would fret about potentially losing the chance to see his dad and friends every week, but that would be latter. Right then, he was just so relieved that there was a hope, that Natalie had a plan. He didn’t have to worry, didn’t have to think about it, he just had to follow her lead.

“Since we’re working with a short time frame, we’ll skip the weekly review of your applicants from now till your Heat hits. I’ll bring any applications to you as soon as I get them. Sound good?”

He nodded again.

“After you’ve had some time to calm down and get your head right, we can talk about taking some more photos too,”

He felt like a bobble-head doll, he was doing so much nodding.

“In the meantime, your job is to try to relax and stay calm. Maybe write another email to your dad, huh?”

She stopped his frantic head jerking with fingers gripping his chin.

“Yeah. Calm.” He remembered belatedly. “Right. On it.”

“Good boy.”


	3. Three

Two days after Peter made his phone call, they had access to the omega listings for all of California. No more, no less.

That gave them access to two more Halfway Houses, So-Cal and TJ. Oh, and infuriatingly, they could view a few privately listed omegas who’s family’s were attempting to arrange a mating beforehand, while the omega was still adolescent. Chris and Peter were willing to wait, but not the several years it would take for any private listing to be old enough to finally come mate with them.

That left them with a brand new list of sixty-eight new omegas. After eliminateing the girls and the ones uninterested in breeding, they had thirty-one hopefuls.

“He’s here.” Chris said confidently as they crowded around the laptop at the dining table. “I can feel it. We just need to point him out.”

Peter reached over and clicked on the first name, “That’s Isaac, isn’t it? The sweet-but-meek one,”

It was. Without hesitating, Chris selected the button that would clear Isaac’s profile from their list of interest. He didn’t want to waste time on an omega they were already familiar, charming as he was. Not when there were thirty other names of limitless potential.

Chris felt his cock twitch excitedly. Maybe Peter’s impatience was rubbing off on him.

“Look at that,” he commented, pointing to the side panel on the display, “We can prioritize based on their desired number of kids, IQ, or Heat severity.”

“My, but that certainly could be helpful,”

Before his mate could make a move to doubtless do likewise, Chris selected the IQ box. Instantly, the names shifted around, and Chris was quick to click on the new name up top.

As Mason’s profile loaded, Chris felt ready to crawl out of his skin, he was so excited. He didn’t show it, didn’t lean forward like Peter did, just remained reclined in his seat. Maybe licked his lips.

Mason was a darling, dark-skinned boy, petite and lovely. He was apparently something of a genius. He was also human, making him only the third they’d looked at so far, Jackson and Isaac and most of the other boys at the first Halfway having been werewolves. He was incredibly intriguing.

And he desperately wanted his own caravan of children.

“What a shame,” Peter sighed.

“I concur. Next?” he said, already going so far to remove Mason from their list entirely.

“Next,”

After more than a decade together, they knew very well that they wanted to be parents together. They bought the house planning for a son or daughter, the nursery already painted for when the time was right. They could comfortably afford to spoil an omega as well as a child, _maybe_ two if they wanted, and that was by design.

It would be irresponsible and selfish to consider Mason seriously and risk condemning him to unfulfilled dreams of a big family.

The next omega, Corey, was similarly unsuited for them.

“Damn,” Peter hissed under his breath as the third profile populate.

Chris winced. At the top of page, right beneath Theo’s name, was a vivid red banner: Wolves Only, Humans Need Not Apply. Without a word, Chris hit the discard button again.

Peter nuzzled his throat, kissed his jaw. Chris accepted the scenting readily, familiar with Peter’s need to console whenever he felt they were being discriminated against for being a mixed-species couple. Chris was fine though, the scenting was all for Peter in his mind. Growing up in Gerard Argents’ house, random reminders of such hate were old hat for him. Peter was the one who couldn’t seem to shrug it off and move on without missing a beat.

Still. His mood admittedly darkened as he caressed Peter’s face to direct him back to the screen.

Three automatic rejected omegas in a row, four if they counted Isaac. He told himself not to get discouraged. They had another twenty-seven omegas to consider.

“What on earth is a Stiles?” Peter asked, bemused as he clicked on the name.

The profile populated. It was not free of red warning banners though.

“Monitored Listing,” Chris read curiously, “Expedited Processing Admissible”

“Huh,” Peter tilted his head, blatantly curious. “How interesting,”

“Hmm,”

Almost as one, they leaned toward the computer, reading intently. Stiles was a brown-haired human wearing an awkward, squinting smile and too much plaid in his profile picture. It was easily the most unimpressive profile shot they’d seen yet.

But…

He was fourth from the top in a list based on intelligence, and his skin was beautifully pale and smooth with endearing little moles. He only wanted one kid, _maybe two_ , in the non-immediate future. Nothing on his profile suggested he had any strong preference for wolf vs human alphas.

“Promising,” Chris thought aloud, skimming the rest of the profile info.

He was eighteen years old. His Heats were coded moderate-to-severe, and he hadn’t grown out of the ADHD and anxiety disorder common in omega adolescents.

That was just fine.

“There are two of us,” he thought aloud, “We could manage a hyperactive and anxious boy.”

“Hmm,” Peter hummed back, taking control of the mouse and scrolling up to click on the picture to make it full screen.

“He’s cute,” Chris declared. He liked that milky skin even more with the enlarged view.

“He’s…” Peter considered the picture thoughtfully. “Cute. Yes. Maybe even pretty from the right angle. A bit skinny though, don’t you think.”

Chris slipped his hand under Peter’s and took back the mouse. Instead of addressing that particular observation, he said, “He has more pictures,”

Two clicks, one on the gallery icon and the second on the icon that populated under the cursor.

“Okay,” Peter said, leaning in again and rubbing at his lips.

“Sweet Jesus,” Chris gave a quiet, breathless laugh, “We found him,”

It was a candid shot, half white background and half mess of studio equipment and grey walls. In the middle of it stood the omega, staring off to the side with an attentive, curious expression, hands on his hips and an almost challenging lift to his chin. There was no awkward, forced smile obscuring his features, and it was a very flattering angle for him.

“Like I said,” Peter said flippantly, “Pretty.”

Chris smacked him fondly on the shoulder.

“I never doubted your taste, dear,” Peter fluttered his eyelashes and continued with simpering charm, “Now do us a favor and click on the next picture. I want to see more,”

“Happily,” Chris said, doing just so.

The next picture was another candid shot, but at least it was fully on the Halfway’s staple backdrop. Stiles was sitting cross-legged, arms straight and hands braced behind him as he leaned back. Again, he wasn’t looking at the camera, but this time he was laughing.

“My god, he’s precious,” Peter said immediately.

“I want him,” Chris stated in full agreement with his mate.

“Why isn’t this one his profile picture!?”

“Let’s not question good luck,” Chris said, though the thought had occurred to him as well. It was a beautiful shot. He wanted it framed. “That goofy profile image is probably the only reason no one’s beat us to him,”

He clicked on the next button, and a fourth picture popped up. Hello, lovely, lovely skin.

It was a shot of Stiles’ naked back from the waist up. So much smooth, beauty marked skin, and taunting hints of musculature. The shadow of his rib was visible on the one side, along with the dip at his lower back, where the camera’s view cut off just before his crack might have been visible. He was lanky, yes, but surprisingly not as skinny as they first thought. His shoulders were broad, but they couldn’t see much of his arms, since the limps were hidden by he body in the image

They couldn’t see his face, but the boy was clearly less than comfortable. A slip of plaid was visible around the curve of his side as the omega held the shirt protectively over his front.

“I wouldn’t call him skinny,” Chris commented, elbowing Peter good-naturedly while his other hand adjusted his cock.

He was rock hard. Next to him, Peter sported his own obscene bulge. They were going to fucking this kid through the floor and make him thank them for it with a smile.

Peter slapped his pec mildly in revenge, eyes locked on the screen. “He could put a bit more fat and muscle on and still be considered slender. But yes, he looks healthy.”

Chris growled appreciatively. “Not just healthy,”

“Yeah,” Peter gave a sensual hum and pressed his forefinger to the screen, tracing the curve where Stiles’ hip met buttock, “Very nice.”

Chris interrupted, clicking the button to the final photo, except there wasn’t one. It was a video.

“Wonderful,” Peter grinned, sitting back and pressing himself against Chris’ side. “I was starting to think he’d be too camera shy to leave a video,”

“Lucky us,” Chris said, stretching his arm around Peter and getting comfortable.

They knew more or less what to expect out of the video, and Chris was damn near giddy with excitement to get to a peak at this omega’s personality. They had flipped through all the pictures of the original seven omegas they’d considered, and five of them included a videos. At the time, with such limited options, they’d watched each one.

Stiles’ video was sure to be formatted like the others, though it was about half the run-time. It would be a single, uninterrupted take, trained on his upper body and face. Off-screen, some Halfway House representative would ask him specific, open-ended questions about himself, designed to give alpha’s enough info to decide if they wanted to apply for the chance to pursue the omega in question.

His mate and partner comfortably cuddled close and equally invested, Chris hit play.

They watched Stiles’ face come to life, amber eyes darting around aimlessly, as an amused female voice spoke.

“Good morning, Stiles,”

Stiles’ eyes snapped to the direction of the camera with a subvocal snort of cynicism. “Morning, Natalie,” he mocked.

“I’m in love already,” Peter gasped quietly while the woman continued.

“Why don’t we start with you telling me what you’ll miss most about your pre-mating life,”

The sarcastic attitude leached off him and he gaped at the camera, eyes large and wounded. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He looked away again, biting at the inside of his lip and muttering a snide “low blow, Nat.”

“That’s still not my name. Now answer the question.”

Stiles blinked at her, all false innocence. “Technically, you never asked a question,”

“Stiles.”

“Okay, okay,” he rolled his eyes and sighed. He looked down and ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it as he sobered. “I guess… I guess I’ll miss what everybody does. My dad. My friends,”

“Your home?”

He winced, “Eh… not so much. I mean, don’t get me wrong, but dad’s not exactly a handyman and that place needed an overhaul the year I was born. And frankly, the town wasn’t much better. We had a three-auditorium movie theater and a bowling alley. That’s it. There was like… _one_ dinner that served decent curly fries.” He made this pronouncement with the utmost disdain.

“So you’re looking forward to leaving your childhood town.”

He scoffed, “To put it mildly,”

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”

He floundered a little, a cute crease of confusion on his brow. “You mean, like… to live?”

“Or to visit,”

His shoulders slumped as he threw his head back and blew out a hefty breath. “I’m not super big into traveling. It’d be cool to see the Grand Canyon, though,” He scratched the back of his head, avoiding direct sight of the camera as he blushed, “I always really liked the idea of a road trip. It’s silly, but… growing up, dad never had the time off, and then after I presented, we were always pinching pennies to try and save up for my meds. Y’know, for when my Heats’ started.”

“You intended to stay with your father?”

“No…” he shrugged, looking around uncomfortably. “I mean, not really. We just… we thought staying home longer might buy me more time to find the right guy. Honestly? Back home, the Halfway Houses still have a shady reputation.” He gave a sardonic, mildly self-deprecating laugh, “We thought I’d be out of here by now, sold to the highest bidder or pawned off to the first alpha to notice me. Hell,” he said with forced cheer and a flap of his hands, “maybe that last will still prove true.”

“I doubt that. You’re quite a catch,”

“Hellz yeah,” he held up an excepting finger and smirked at the camera winningly, “especially if you like socially awkward, nervous wrecks.” He dropped the finger and held his hands up by his head in a show of retreat, “Hey, you’re the one who said to be honest here.” 

“Moving on,” the woman said without inflection. “If you can have anything in the world at this moment, what would it be?”

Stiles clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. “Oh! Okay, that’s a tough one, except not really. Because at this exact moment, there would _have_ to be curly fries and a chocolate shake involved. Wait—There’s not any limiting qualifiers in this hypothetical deal, right?”

“…No.”

“Cool. In that case… Ready for this?” he wagged his eyebrows, sneaky and playful, before answering grandly: “Okay. What I want most in the world right now is to learn there’s a six foot tall alpha in the lobby with curly fries and a chocolate shake, willing and able to throw me over his shoulder and carry me out of here.”

He leaned forward earnestly and added one slow and emphatically important word: “To. Day.”

And the video ended.

Chris took one look at the hungry expression on Peter’s face and went to submit their application to start the adoption process that would end in their mating.

“This is perfect,” Peter commented, “We’re both over six feet, and certainly willing and able to carry him off,”

“That’s the plan.”

~!~

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my god!” Stiles chanted, palms smushed against his cheeks while he practically vibrated right off the couch.

“Stop hyperventilating.” Lydia scolded, eyeing him disdainfully.

“But did you see!?” He whined, shoving the latest folder in her face, the full color photo front and center. “He’s gorgeous! And rich! Like, crazy rich!”

She rolled her eyes, pushing the paperwork out of her face. “They’re all rich, Stiles. Get a hold of yourself.”

“Yeah, but this one could be _mine_ ,” he stressed, “And he’s _gorgeous_!”

Lydia shrugged, “He’s blind. Twenty bucks says he’ll make you learn to drive so you can double as his chauffer when you’re not delirious with Heat,”

Stiles sputtered, “So what!? Besides, I already know how to drive, dad taught me with my mom’s old Jeep before it gave out. See, Lydia: we’re a perfect match!”

“Like you were the perfect match with the guy whose application you were simpering over during breakfast?” Lydia asked, smirking pointedly as she resumed filing her nails into claws.

“I wasn’t simpering,” he muttered, deflating a little. “And besides, the good Doctor Valack was my first ever suitor. I was unreasonably relieved and I convinced myself he was perfect.”

“For all of an hour,”

“It was a very impactful hour,”

“I’m sure,”

“And the moment someone else applied, I moved on to greener pastures,” Stiles admitted with a wistful sigh, “Now, that Tyler Hoechilin: there was an alpha I might have given my left nut to mate with.”

Lydia paused, considering. “He certainly was a looker,”

“So sad he had the vocabulary of a stunted Neanderthal during the phone interview. I’m still a little heartbroken over it,”

“Well, it was only three hours ago.”

“True,” he gave a dreaming sigh, “I could have made gorgeous babies with that man, if only it didn’t mean sacrificing the chance for fulfilling conversation ever again. It’s sad.” 

“So, so sad,” she agreed, nodding.

“Eh. It’s fine. I doubt we had much compatibility anyway. He’ll feature in my dreams for a while, though.”

She huffed a laugh and returned her attention to choosing nail polish. “So are you going to set up a phone interview with him?” 

“Deucalion?”

“Is there another alpha application for you to pull out of your ass?”

“I dunno,” he asked smarmily, turning a Natalie entered the common room. “Hey, Nat? Do I have another alpha application to seemingly pull out of my ass?”

Natalie quirked a brow at him, “Very nearly,”

Stiles gaped at her, hopping to his feet. “For real!?”

“I told you not to get discouraged,” Natalie reminded him as she held out another folder.

Stiles arranged Deucalion’s paperwork safely in its own navy folder, only fumbling a little in his excitement.

Lydia swatted at him. “Have some dignity, Stilinski. You can only choose one.”

“You say that now,” Natalie told her daughter, winking a little, “But this one’s a mated pair,”

Stiles froze at that, the folder falling through his fingers as Natalie released it to him. “Eek!” he squeaked, flailing to catch it.

“You’re such a spaz,” Lydia said, looking on judgmentally.

“But a cute spaz,” Natalie assured him.

Stiles clutched the new folder between two hands and blinked down at it. _Two_ alphas? He could actually have _two_!? Obviously, in a world with so few omegas, such couplings were commonplace, he’d simply never met any who pursued an omega mate as well. He certainly hadn’t ever considered it for himself before.

“Stiles?” Natalie tapped his shoulder, “Everything okay, sweetie?”

He blinked up at her, “I’ve never… what would I do with two alphas?”

Natalie’s smile turned gentle and encouraging, “Same thing you’d do with one, I imagine,”

“Let them spoil you,” Lydia suggested, like it was what she would do, obviously. “Lots of sex too.”

Stiles blushed, fingers plucking at the folder’s edge. “I guess that wouldn’t be too bad…”

“Stop fantasizing,” Natalie admonished, tapping the folder’s back so it lurched up at him. “Take a look, and seriously consider your options. In case it matters any, one of them is a wolf.”

Stiles felt his eyes widen. “A werewolf?”

“No, a timber wolf. What do you think, Stiles?”

“Dude! I’ve had so many dreams about getting bent over by a werewolf, you don’t even know—”

“And I don’t want to. Read the application, Stiles.”

With a final nod to her daughter, she turned around and left them.

Stiles sank back onto the couch, the folder in his hands. “Holy shit.”

“Are you going to open it, or just stare at it all night,”

“Shut up.” He frowned at her, then at the folder, “I think I’m nervous.”

Sighing, Lydia put down her nail polish and grabbed the thing from him. He let her, folding his arms tightly and tucking his fidgety fingers away in the bends of his elbows.

“Mmm,” Lydia hummed, expression infuriatingly unreadable as she skimmed the application.

“What?” Stiles pressed, “What does ‘mmm’ mean? Good? Bad?”

She shrugged, “Depends.”

“You are literally the most unhelpful you could possibly be right now,”

She picked up a paper, skimming the one behind it, and read, “Christopher Argent, age thirty-eight, and Peter Hale, age thirty-four,” she cast a smirking glance at Stiles, “They’re not quite in Hoechlin’s league, looks-wise, but close enough. That wolf sure knows how to fill out a suit,”

Stiles made grabby hands at her, demanding: “Pictures!”

She held out a single five-by-seven sheet. Stiles took it, biting his lip, but quickly released said flesh when he got a good look.

The guy in the picture was suave as fuck, brown curls brushed back from a chiseled face and dark grey eyes. He wore a charcoal suit, white shirt, and sapphire blue tie wrapped around a deliciously thick neck. Something about his gaze, that confident hint of a smirk on his face, simply screamed predator.

Stiles squirmed, feeling just a little wet. Damn.

He cleared his throat. “Wha—ugh. What about the other guy?”

“Not bad by human standards,” Lydia commented, handing him the second photo. “If you like a little salt and pepper in your facial hair,”

Turns out, Stile totally liked exactly that.

Dark blond, with a short, scruffy beard and the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen, the guy was the definition of ruggedly handsome, as far as Stiles was concerned. He had sharp, slender features, and tall, lean frame encased in a button down and jeans, his long thumbs tucked into the front belt loops so that those large, powerful looking hands framed his crotched. Despite the casual clothing and pose, he left no doubt that he was an alpha at the top of his game.

Stiles found it easy to imagine this man, human as he was, manhandling him around like a ragdoll.

He held the pictures next to each other, and his breath caught at the idea of them together. God, but there’d be so much muscle and dominance and pure alpha scent…

He was more than a little wet now.

Lydia helpfully slipped a third picture onto his lap, right over the first two.

The two alphas sat together on a low stone wall, dressed down in jeans, the wolf in a white v-neck, the humanin a simple green tee that strained over his biceps. They sat close, thighs and hips pressed flush together, their intense gazes trained on the camera. There was a hint of a smirk, more than a hint in the wolf’s case, and something dark in their eyes that made Stiles’ poor omega heart race and his blood burn hot.

“No way I’m that lucky,” Stiles mused aloud, squirming in a little pool of slick.

Lydia plopped the rest of the application in his lap, obscuring his view of the photos. Hopeful, and perhaps with a renewed sense of desperation, Stiles bent his head to read.

~!~

Unbeknownst to their prospective omega, Peter and Chris were reviewing their own bit of vital information at that same moment.

“Red. Definitely red,” Chris said decisively.

Peter paused to consider the dark ruby color and how it might look against pale, mole marked skin. Probably really fucking well.

“Agreed,” he said, selecting the option and moving onto the next, “I think the obsidian lock will look best, especially with the darker coloring,”

“Yeah, I like that.”

“And I want gold for the engraving.”

“Whatever you want.”

Peter eyed him shrewdly. “You have no opinions about the engraving?”

Chris shrugged, “I trust you. Besides, you have a better sense of aesthetic,”

Peter preened, “That’s true. In that case, I’m going to insist on replacing that awful shirt he was wearing in his Halfway photos. The day I let plaid into my house is the day I’ve officially compromised all my life values.”

“Easy there,” Chris warned, fondly nipping at his ear before whispering, “Maybe he’s attached to the pattern.”

“I’m confident I can overcome that problem,” Peter assured him, “I’m sure he’ll change his mind with the right incentive, and I can be very persuasive.”

“Mmm. Yeah, you can,”

Peter turned to meet his mate’s questing lips. He slipped him a little tongue and suggested devilishly: “Want to suck each other off while we listen to his video again?”

“God, yes,” 


	4. Four

Peter was at work when the call came through.

“Hello, Hale speaking.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hale. My name is Natalie Martin. I’m Stiles’ caretaker at The Halfway House. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Certainly. Give me just a moment,”

Before getting a reply, Peter muted his cell and flew out of his chair to close his office door. He only paused long enough to tell Cora, his interning receptionist and niece, to hold any business calls for the moment.

It was possible he was a little over-eager.

Reclining into his office chair, Peter crossed an ankle over a knee and unmuted the cellphone. “You have my undivided attention, Ms. Martin,”

“Thank you. Is there a chance Mr. Argent is available?”

Peter checked the clock. It was just shy of nine-thirty in the morning, and Christopher’s unfathomably flexible schedule probably meant he was either in a meeting or sleeping in. It could honestly go either way.

He wondered if that might change once they had an omega in the house. Their omega. Chris was a closet romantic and utter sap, not that he’d admit it, and Peter suspected his workload would get pushed to the backburner for a time after they brought Stiles home. The idea of getting ready for work to the sight of Chris snuggled up close to their boy made him smile broadly.

“I’m at the office at the moment,” he explained to Martin, “but I doubt he’s available right now. I can call you back once I get a hold of him, though.

“Actually,” she drew the word out, the way people do when they’re thinking fast and on the fly, “If it’s alright with you and your mate, I’d prefer not to wait.”

He sat up straight and rubbed a finger over his lips, ample interest further piqued. “By all means, fire away. Chris and I aren’t interested in waiting longer than necessary either.”

There was humor in her voice, and he realized he recognized her from Stiles’ video. “That’s good to hear. Especially given the reason for my call.”

“Something to do with Stiles, I’m sure,”

“Of course. I’m sure you noticed on his profile that we’re looking to match him under a time constraint,”

“Yes. Is there a reason for that we should know about?”

“It’s no cause for concern, but Stiles has a great deal of anxiety and fear about suffering a Heat at the facility. Ideally, I’d like to have him adopted and safely at his new home before that happens.”

Peter’s cock jumped in his slacks at the mention of Heat. “So you’re working on an abbreviated timeline? Just how soon are we talking?”

She sighed, “He’s had four complete cycles already, privately managed. Provided the stress doesn’t mess with his consistency, the heat will hit by Monday.”

Peter nearly dropped his phone. “This upcoming Monday?”

“Yes,”

Five days. Holy fucking shit, they could be serving Stiles through a Heat in five fucking days. Talk about sprinting straight out of the gate.

He needed to put in a Heat Leave notice immediately. They needed to at least get a bed and a fridge in Stiles’ room. They needed to—

 _Slow down for a second_ , he told himself. His inner voice at the moment sounded annoyingly like Christopher.

“I’ll admit,” he said, smooth and calm like he wasn’t about to beta-shift with frantic excitement, “we planned on having some time with him beforehand, but we can make it work. I’m assuming this means he wants to meet us?”

“Yes. Normally, we’d just schedule an in-person meeting, but given the situation, I’d like to do a phone interview as soon as possible.”

“Of course. I’ll try to get a hold of Christopher and we can do a conference call this morning.”

“Excellent. Now, I see you’re located in Roseville, that’s several hours north of us. Assuming the call goes well, would the two of you be able to make it down here tomorrow? We can do an in-person meeting and the exam in the same day, potentially.”

“We’ll make it happen,” Peter assured her. “I really would prefer to have him at home with a little familiarity with his surroundings before Heat hits. Is it fair to assume we can bring him home tomorrow night?”

She hesitated, “I have to recommend you book a hotel for the night. We’re already rushing things enough as it is, I need to give him a night to sleep on the decision. But if everything goes well, I see no reason why we wouldn’t release him to you Friday morning.”

Peter grinned. “I understand completely.”

“Good, then I’ll schedule the in-person interview for tomorrow afternoon. Does one o’clock work?”

“One’s perfect. We might be able to make it in earlier…”

“No. We’ll stick with one. In the meantime, please call me back at my direct line as soon as you have Mr. Argent available.”

~!~

Stiles twirled his fork in his hash browns, feeling sick to his stomach.

“I’m going to die miserable and alone,” He said to his plate. “From Estrus Sickness. It’s going to kill me, because it’s either that or doom myself to life in an unhappy mating.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Isaac said, unsympathetic from his spot directly across the table.

“Let him mope,” Mason dropped his breakfast to put a consoling hand on Stiles’ back. “I know what it’s like to be disappointed. Sometimes, an alpha can look really good on paper, and you can’t help but get your hopes up.”

“Look on the bright side,” Lydia commented as she spooned fruit salad onto her plate, “You dodged a bullet. I warned you he’d put you to work,”

Stiles sighed exasperatedly, “I told you, I’m fine with working. In fact, I _hope_ my alpha uses me for more than just my body!”

“Here, here!” Corey raised his glass from further down the table.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting your body used in the right way,” Isaac mumbled into his eggs.

“Of course not,” Lydia agreed, like anything else would be asinine to contemplate. Which it was.

“I want my body used too!” Stiles whined, abandoning his hash browns to hold his face in both hands in misery.

“Whatever, Deucalion was a pretentious asshole anyway,” Mason said with a firm pat on his back.

“You only say that because he’s European.” Isaac interjected.

“No,” Lydia countered, tone matter-of-fact, “Stiles can do better. He _will_ do better,”

Stiles begrudgingly admitted, “They’re right. If he had been that condescending on the phone, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with the face-to-face interview.”

In truth, it hadn’t been much of an interview. Fifteen minutes in, Stiles had left the room, red faced and furious. Deucalion had acted like it was a done deal and he already had the right to boss Stiles around.

Stiles was a contrary and willful omega to begin with, and he only liked being ordered when the alpha doing it was proven competent. Like his dad. Like Parish, or half the rest of Noah’s department who’d let him cozy up and scent them just for the comfort of real alpha pheromones; sadly, none of them would ever afford an omega on a cop’s salary.

Hence, why Stiles was currently moping in a state-run Halfway House.

The House staff had shifted breakfast to a late brunch in order to accommodate Stile’ first official, in-person interview and Deucalion’s schedule. They had made the inconvenience up to the hungry omegas with a fancy brunch. It would have been worth it if Deucalion had been The One. As it was, Stiles found the whole wonderful spread utterly unappetizing.

Lydia watched him pick at his plate dully with a concerned frown. “You’re hardly doomed, Stiles. Don’t you have that sexy twosome waiting in the wings?”

Mason nearly bounced out of his seat. “The mated pair!? Man, that human alpha was so hot!”

Corey licked his lips and leered down the table at Stiles, “Kind makes you want to sit in his lap and call him Daddy, right?”

Stiles frowned, “Pretty sure your relationship with that particular honorific is nothing like mine, dude.”

“Spoil sport,”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, pushing away from the table, “I’m going to take a nap. Laters, gators,”

Isaac snorted, “Later, grandpa,”

Stiles flipped him off and slouched out of the dinning room. He hit the steps before someone called his name and made him stop.

“Stiles, there you are,” Natalie said, her heels clicking on the floor cheerily. “I was just coming to find you. Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” Stiles fibbed, but only a little. He had like... two or three bites. “What’s up?”

She smiled, stopping partway down the hall and taking a half turn back the way she’d come. She waved toward her office.

“If you’re free, why don’t you join me. Peter and Chris want to chat.”

From zero-to-sixty in a heartbeat, Stiles perked up. He got downright jittery with the sudden rush of adrenaline and nerves. “Really? Already? I thought you weren’t going to contact them till after letting me strike out with Deucalion…?”

She chuckled, “I called Peter right after showing that posh bastard out. Now come on, they’re quite keen to meet you. Oh, any try straightening out your shirt, okay? We’re using a video conferencing program.”

Stiles paled and tripped over air.

Natalie rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. “Relax, Stiles. You’re perfectly presentable and you know it.”

She wasn’t exactly wrong. He was wearing his best shirt, a grey knitted sweater that was one of several items his dad had bought him for the exact purpose of official mate interviews. He was presentable, cute even.

He was also ninety percent certain those three bites of hash and eggs had let crumbs all over his front. He probably had cheese staining his chin, or something between his teeth.

“I’m not ready for a video call, Nat!”

“Yes, you are. Stop being melodramatic.”

She smacked his hand away before he could tug at the front tuft of his hair. She held the extremity instead and walked him to the office.

His empty stomach fluttered, and he had the fantastic thought that maybe, just maybe, he was being led to his destiny.

~!~

Chris was nervous.

It was irritating and entirely unexpected. He didn’t do nervous.

He scowled at his reflected image on the computer and stopped smoothing down his beard for the hundredth time. He eyed the kitchen, glanced back at the screen. He probably had time to make another coffee. Probably.

No. There was no need to risk coming off as a flake, in case Stiles started the call before he was back at the computer. They only had once chance to make the right first impression, and their window of opportunity to convince Stiles they were his best option was looking terrifyingly short.

Where the fuck was Peter. They should both be ready, presenting a competent, eager and united front…

The screen shifted, his own image shrinking to make room for Peter’s likeness.

“Cutting it close,” he huffed.

“Hello there, handsome,” Peter grinned, slow and sensual, as he unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling his sleeves. It was a good call, Chris thought appreciatively; Peter had nice, well formed forearms.

“What kept you?”

Peter shrugged and leaned back in his office chair, the very picture of successful and powerful. Which he absolutely was. “One of my clients took an exception to Cora refusing to patch him through. It’s handled, and now I’m free of any untimely interruptions.”

Chris nodded. “Good.”

The screen shifted again, his and Peter’s images shrinking to the right side of the screen to make room for the third feed to fill the left. A unremarkable beige wall, a corner of pale curtains and shelf in the background, and the face of a brunet woman in a crisp suit jacket and blouse greeted them.

Chris hid his immediate disappointment and opted for a small smile. “Morning. You must be Ms. Martin,”

She smiled back, genuine and professional. “I am. A pleasure, Mr. Argent, Mr. Hale. Before I turn you over to Stiles, I just wanted to introduce myself properly as his caretaker and let you know he’s had a bit of a rough morning.”

Chris frowned, “Is he alright,”

She rolled her eyes, “He’s fine, just a little nervous. He’s had a few disappointments lately, is all.”

Martin’s gaze narrowed beyond her computer’s camera at something—someone—and beside her, he saw Peter hide a silent chuckle and subtly tap his ear. Ah. Stiles must have said or done something so quietly Chris virtually-compromised human hearing couldn’t detect.

“Alright, gentlemen, here he is.”

She reached forward and swung her monitor around. The feed lagged, giving them a streaking mess of colors and shadows, before the image caught up and the left side of Chris’ screen showcased Stiles.

Chris didn’t stop the urge to widen his smile, but he didn’t realize he’d leaned forward, folded arms on the table, until after he’d already done it.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Peter said with his most devastatingly charming affect, swiveling his chair slightly from side to side playfully.

“Hello, Stiles,” Chris said right after.

Oh, but the boy blushed so prettily. He looked away form the camera shyly, an awkward little smile on his face.

Chris wanted to eat him alive. Or eat him out. Same difference, really.

Stiles cleared his throat, long, slender fingers tugging at the neck of his sweater. “Uh, hi. Nice to meet you?”

Chris just stared, take in the fresh sight of the boy. He willed the omega to look up, giving them a personal view of those big amber eyes, and talk to them. When he didn’t, the blush only deepening on his cheeks, Chris found himself stroking his beard again as he tried to find something to say.

Thank God for his mate. Before the silence could become painful, Peter smoothly ushered things along. “We saw the video on your profile, Stiles. Somehow, I had the impression you weren’t particularly bashful,”

This implication startled Stiles into lifting his head. “I’m not. Really. Just the opposite, in fact. I don’t exactly have a filter, so I tend to spout whatever thoughts occur to me.” He winced, “I’m also not that great at selling myself, apparently. Not that I should need to or whatever, but yeah… Yeah.”

Chris chuckled, enjoying the emotive expressions racing across the omega’s face. “You’re doing just fine. You’re genuine and a little mouthy,” he felt his smile turn a little less innocent, “I like it.”

Stiles ducked his gaze and pulled at his hair, chuckling self-consciously, “Thanks… uh. Also. This is erm… kind of a first for me, but I don’t really know what to say. So there’s that.”

“Fortunately,” Peter commented with dry humor, “You’re not the only one responsible for carrying the conversation.”

“Thank fuck—Ah!” Stiles clapped a hand over his mouth, wide-eyed and apparently embarrassed enough to forget his plan to avoid looking at the screen. “Sorry!” he yelled into his palm.

Chris laughed, full and loud.

For his part, Peter rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. “Don’t apologize, Stiles. If a single profanity were enough to damage our opinion of a person, Christopher and I would never have gotten mated to begin with,”

Chris winked. “Don’t fall for his tricks, Stiles. He likes to pretend he’s better than the rest of us mere mortals, but Peter can get absolutely filthy in the right context.”

“Christopher,” Peter scowled without real irritation, “Might I remind you of that good, united impression you were so insistent on?”

Chris sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head so he could aim an unrepentant, relaxed grin at the camera. His likeness in the bottom right corner of the screen caught the nice bunch of his biceps as they flexed.

Stiles surely noticed. The omega was openly fixated on the screen by now, put at ease and drawn in by their playful banter. Nervous or not, he was responding so well to them already.

“You’re a lawyer, right?” Stiles asked, his eyes indicating he was watching Peter in the top part of his screen.

Peter puffed out his chest proudly, only partially in jest. Maybe. “I am.”

Stiles bit his bottom lip, “The no-filter thing can be a problem. My dad’s been country Sheriff for years, and I’m pretty sure I nearly cost him the last election. I’m just not sure I’ll be much good at keeping your reputation respectable.”

Peter gave him contemplative look, expression appropriately serious. “I appreciate your concern, sweetheart, but that’s my responsibility to deal with, not yours. If you become ours, you’ll need to trust us to know how to handle our own professional affairs.”

“We’re looking for a submissive mate, not a business partner.” Chris added kindly, lowering his arms to rest his hands on his thighs, “Besides, Peter’s more shark than wolf in his profession. Believe me, his reputation can only go up from there.”

Peter’s mouth tightened, but he tilted his head in reluctant agreement, “There might be some truth to that statement.”

Stiles’ laughter was like music to his ears, not chiming or bell-like as so many omegas pretend is natural. Their omega, Chris was beginning to realize, truly was quintessentially genuine. Chris couldn’t wait to see more.

Sadly, that darling humor slipped away as the omega fussed with the hem of his sleeves. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it. But about the submissive mate thing… that sounds great and all, but I gotta tell you: I’m not the easiest-going omega out there. I mean,” he tossed up a flailing hand, his gaze darting every which way, “I question pretty much everything and if it doesn’t make senses, I have a hard time blindly following orders.”

Chris snorted, “That’s because you’re smart,”

“We don’t want a meek little plaything,” Peter concurred. “And I dearly hope you’ll have a strong enough sense of independence to do what you like without an alpha’s constant direction.”

“You’ll obey our rules and take whatever discipline we find appropriate, like any mated omega,” Chris took over seamlessly, “but if you don’t understand or agree with something, you’ll be expected to ask. You’ll never be punished for needing help.”

Stiles blinked those wide, bright eyes at them, and for a moment seemed to struggle with processing his response to their perfectly reasonable expectations.

Chris leaned in again, “We want you to be happy with us, Stiles.”

“Above all else,” Peter agreed, hands splayed across his desk as he came closer like a moth to flame.

Chris sympathized with the itching tension, the unbearable sensation of being on the edge of something wonderful and balancing the risk of falling backwards.

They wanted this omega, with his goofy, effortless charm and earnestness. The desire to please, to be wanted and cherished, wafted off him like tangible waves, even through the screen and so many miles. Stiles was a roiling bundle of energy, fidgeting and anxious, yes, but with that came an bottomless wealth of potentially.

“You can be so good for us,” Chris said longingly, only realizing he’d said it aloud when he saw Stiles’ reaction.

The omega sat up straighter, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Those bright whiskey colored eyes went round and expectant as he clutched the armrests of his seat.

“… I can try.” he said, all eagerness and hope.

“Good boy,” Peter purred, “That’s more than enough. So long as you keep trying for us, we’ll do the rest. That’s a promise, sweetheart.”

Stiles’ next laugh was more of a nervous, pleased giggle as he cast his eyes down submissively. Maybe Chris was imagining it, but it sounded a little bit breathless.

“I got a question for you, Stiles,” Chris said once the omega lifted his gaze and seemed ready to continue.

“Shoot,”

Chris laughed at the fitting epithet. “I don’t suppose your father ever let you shoot a gun?”

Stiles’ eyes and mouth made perfect O’s at the unexpected question. He shook his head. “Nope. No way. Teaching me to drive was apparently heart attack enough. Oh!” he bounced in his seat as a thought occurred, and he grinned self-importantly, “But he did let me handle his pistol a few times, with an empty magazine. He taught me how to clean it. No shooting and no fun, but hey, can’t blame the guy for taking advantage of free volunteer labor.”

Both alphas chuckled, and Stiles just about preened at the positive reaction to his story. God, but he was adorable.

Chris wanted him desperately. He wanted to see him squirm in their bed, let him sit on his thigh while they shared breakfast from the same plate, and see if Stiles would enjoy cuddling in front of the fire pit during the first light snowfall of the season.

He glanced at Peter’s image and thought maybe he wasn’t the only one thinking along those lines.

“I can’t promise anything,” Chris said, shoving his daydreaming out of his immediate focus. “But we’ll see how you are on gun safety and maybe somewhere down the line you can come to the range with me.”

Stiles gaped at him. “You’d let me shoot!?” His whole body shifted as he turned attention to Peter’s corner in the next breath. “Peter too? You’d let me shoot a gun!?”

Peter winced dramatically, “Well… so long as Chris thought you were ready, with his supervision of course.”

Stiles gave a short cheer and thrust his fist in the air, flailing so fast, for a split second his video pixelated and lagged behind him. 

“I love the enthusiasm,” Chris commented.

“Hmm,” Peter’s brows lifted with decidedly less delight. “We’ll see. Safety first, Stiles.”

“Yeah!” Stiles agreed, wiggling excitedly in his chair as he settled down. “Totally agree. Safety first, sexy stuff like guns later.”

Peter’s expression went ferally intent. “Sweetheart. If you think guns are sexy, we need to educate you on the meaning of the word,”

Chris grinned, and let another thoughtless thought fly off his tongue: “Multiple lessons. Until it sticks.”

“Oh. My. Gawd.” Stiles melted off the chair and out of view.

Peter took the opportunity to stick out his tongue salaciously and give him a cocky thumbs-up. Chris just laughed.

Off screen, they heard Natalie groan and say “Stiles, get off the floor. Dramatics are overrated.”

“I disagree,” Peter called.

As Stiles popped back up into his chair, Chris snickered, “I already live with one drama king, you might as well give him a little competition.”

The smile on the boy’s face was mischief and made Chris want to pin him down and show him who’s boss.

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles goaded, a teasing lilt of challenge in his voice.

Peter wasn’t the only alpha who growled back: “Yeah.”


	5. Five

Stiles spent the evening freaking out. His mind played a constant relay race between giddy anticipation and abject terror. What if Chris and Peter were absolutely perfect and they really, truly, absolutely wanted him? Him!? What if they met him in person and decided he was smelly and obnoxious in real life? What if they whisked him off into the sunset? What if left him miserable and alone and utterly heartbroken, which was ridiculous, because he barely knew them and it wasn’t like an hour long skype call was enough to form deep and meaningful attachments to anybody, yet alone two somebodies.

But. What. If.

In the hours following his video call with them, Natalie had handed him tow more applications to consider. Stiles had been too busy driving himself insane with nervous and elated butterflies to even open them.

He managed four hours of sleep, despite his racing brain. He woke up to another bout of freak-the-fuck-out.

“I’m going to die.” Stiles cried, throwing himself down on Lydia’s bed shortly after breakfast, “I’m not going to make it to Heat. I’m going to perish from anxiety. Or I’ll make it into the interview room only to spontaneously combust from how terrifyingly hot they are. I can’t cope. I’m so dead.”

“You’re so ridiculous.” Lydia said, kicking him to the foot of her bed.

“Lydiiiiiaaaah!” he sang pleadingly, rolled off the bed to kneel on the floor. “Help me! What do I wear? How do I magically become less of a spaz in the next four hours!? Come on, do me a solid and save my life right now. I need this to go well. It’s a need, Lyds. A _need_. Have I stressed this enough yet?”

She sighed, but he could read the pleasure of truly acknowledged superiority on her face. “Fine. Go shower. Meet me in your room in ten minutes.”

He jumped up, kissed her cheek and ran to do as she said. He got minorly sidetracked by a truly epic masturbation session to the thought of being spit-roasted, but ten minutes later he skidded into his room with a towel around his hips and another wrapping his head.

Lydia gave him a pitying look. “You should have saved the grey sweater for today,”

Stiles felt his shoulders slump. “Is there no hope?”

She looked him up and down, then gave his closet a long, unimpressed look.

He wanted to cry from shame, but only for a second. He thought about the want Chris had seemed to appreciate his bumbling honesty. “Maybe I should just dress comfortably…”

Lydia looked horrified. “No. I have half a mind to burn every plaid overshirt and graphic tee in sight.”

Stiles stared at her, affronted. “Excuse you. There’s nothing wrong with Batman.” He crossed his arms, expression defiantly proud, “Or plaid,”

She glared at him. “You’re trying to snare a high society attorney and a private weapon’s dealer who wears Armani jeans. I’m not letting you fuck it up because no one in your tiny backwoods town ever taught you better.”

It was, maybe, distinctly possible she had a point there. Still… he reached out for Captain America t-shirt close by, opening his mouth to retort on principle.

Lydia snatched the fabric right out from under him. She smiled, sweet as turpentine. “Say ‘thank you, Lydia, for saving my fledgling mating.’”

He raised his voice to his best screechy falsetto, “Thank you, Lydia, for saving my fledgling mating.”

“You’re welcome,”

And three and a half hours and a bit of magic later, Stiles found himself feeling not too shabby at all as he paced in the sitting room specially reserved for visiting suitors.

The door cracked and Natalie’s head peaked in, “Stiles?”

He froze. “Yeah? Is it time? Are they here!? I’m not ready. I mean, I am, obviously.” He gestured at himself. “But not like… mentally. Then again, I doubt I ever will be. Oh my god, are they right outside!? Can they hear me freaking out right now!?”

He stopped craning to look around her when she stepped into the room and closed the door. She leaned against it, arms folded casually as she spoke. “They just arrived in the lobby. Do you want me to wait a little while before I go down to greet them?”

He shook his head spastically. “Nope. No way. Let’s do this thing. Like a band aid, we’ll just… rip the sucker right off—you know what, that was a terrible analogy.”

“Yes, it was,”

“Let’s pretend I never said that,”

“Deal. Are you good?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep, loud breath, and let it go just as hard, “Yeah, I’m good. I want to meet them.”

She smiled proudly, and the boost of alpha approval did wonders. As she exited, he managed to calm down enough to sit. He was on the edge of the seat practically, but at least he was seated. He drummed his fingers on the coffee table between his chair and the loveseat, but he kept from messing up Lydia’s hard work on his artfully disheveled hair, so he figured it was a win.

He was as calm as he was going to get.

The door opened, Stiles jumped to his feet and nearly flipped over the freaking coffee table.

And there they were.

Chris was perhaps an inch taller, Peter a tad bit more muscular, but the wide, impressive breadth of their shoulders were about equal, side-by-side. Chris’ eyes were even bluer than he’d thought, and Peter’s leering smile even more scorching. And they smelled _divine_.

Stiles uttered a soft meep as their pheromones hit him with an accompanying rush of slick in his pants. He took an involuntary step back, his ass clenching futilely.

In front of him, Peter’s eyes flashed red and he let out a rumbling purr. “Oh, Chris. He’s _very_ glad to see us.” 

Stiles sat down before his wobbly knees could give out and make an even bigger ass out of him.

“I’m close to my Heat,” he admitted, red faced.

Chris’ eyes widened with understanding. He and Peter shared a look full of private and sinful meaning.

“Gentlemen,” Natalie said brightly, clearing her throat. “Please take a seat. In case anyone needs the reminder, no touching is permitted during the interview. Stiles, if you need a nose plug, let me know,”

“Oh my God, Nat!” Stiles gaped at her, appalled and embarrassed by the suggestion.

“It’s fine,” Chris said mellowly, making his way to the small couch, “I like knowing you’re so strongly affected by us,”

Peter followed after his mate with a deep breath, nose lifted in Stiles’ direction. He smirked as he took his seat, crossing his legs fluidly, “You smell... mmm. _Ideal_.”

Stiles shivered and shoved his antsy fingers under his thighs. He was certain it did nothing to hide his nerves. He was blushing so hard, he was starting to seriously reconsider his sarcastic spontaneous combustion comment.

He aimed for a flirtatious smile that probably fell short next to someone like Peter, and said: “Not so bad yourself.”

Chris considered him gravely. “Are you sure you don’t want something to block our scents? We won’t be offended.”

“You do smell rather ripe, sweetheart.” Peter agreed, and while there was still hot desire in the once-over he gave Stiles then, it was tempered by a distinct caution.

Stiles glanced at Natalie, worrying his bottom lip. “Oh. Uh… Does it bother you…?”

“Not at all, darling,”

“We just want to make sure you’re okay. We can’t help you if you go into Heat early.”

Stiles blanched. He shot up like his chair was on fire and headed strait at Natalie. “Give me something! I don’t want that. Nope. Nada. Non. Not happening.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Natalie pulled something from her pocket and handed it over. It was a small tube of gel.

His back to the alphas, Stiles gave her a wide-eyed glare and mouthed: ‘what the fuck?’ For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why she would hand him lubricant at a time like this. He had plenty of his own right about now, thanks.

With another put-upon sigh, Natalie took the tube back, popped it open as she grabbed his wrist, and squeezed a healthy dab onto his pinky. She then led his hand to his face with a pointed look.

Stiles grinned sheepishly and applied the scent-blocker to the inside of each nostril. When he was done, he snatched a tissue from the nearby box to clean the residue off his finger, balling the soiled thing into a tight fist as he returned to his seat.

“Better?” Chris said, amusement obvious on his face.

“Depends on your perspective,” Stiles shrugged, already missing the loss of those lovely alpha pheromones. “But I think it’s safe to say I’m in less danger of jumping off the Heat-cliff head first.”

“Good,”

“In that case,” Peter said, reaching into the backpack he’d set by his feet when he sat. Stiles had been too distracted by, well, _them_ , to notice the bag earlier. “We brought something for you. Your caretaker assured us gifts were allowed,”

Stiles tried not to bounce around like an excited child at the first prospect of a present, but was only somewhat successful.

“Dude! Yes, presents are always allowed in my book,”

Peter paused, his hand in the bag, and gave him an arched look. “Did you just call me ‘dude’?”

Stiles lifted one shoulder and waved it off, “I’m from So-Cal. It’s practically my go-to exclamation, not much of a title,” then, because he felt like it, he grinned and tacked on a saucy: “ _Alpha_ ,”

Woah. He hadn’t known his voice could sound like that.

Across from him, Peter’s eyes flashed again and Chris shifted in his seat in telling discomfort, bringing his legs closer together.

Hey, hey, hey. Maybe Stiles could pull off some cheeky omega flirtation after all. Look at him go.

Peter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “You are a clever little minx, aren’t you.”

Stiles flushed anew, saying “Maybe a little,” and God, but he hoped he did the fluttering-eyelashes thing half as well as Lydia.

It was hard to tell, based on the alphas’ reactions. They looked amused, definitely interested. Hey, so long as they weren’t running for the hills, he reckoned he was doing damn good.

But he wouldn’t be Stiles Stilinski if he didn’t fudge around with a good thing on occasion.

“Not being clever right now, though,” he continued, raising his chin in his best ‘fight-me’ expression, “I just happen to be right: dude is a universally beloved expression whose meaning is pretty much entirely dependent on inflection and timing. I’ll try not to call you dude, obviously, but good luck getting me to stop using it entirely,”

Chris chuckled into his closed fist, struggling with the laughter hard enough to make his shoulders shake.

Peter’s smirk made Stiles’ insides do funny things. “Challenge accepted.”

Stiles smiled sweetly, “May I have my present now, Alpha dearest?”

Chris looked like he might cry from laughing so hard.

Peter elbowed him in gut, to no apparent affect. “I can already tell you’re going to be an enabler, Christopher. That’s fine. Just remember, Stiles, _I’m_ the one who gave you what you wished for,”

Chris rolled his eyes, muttering, “It was a joint effort,”

And then Peter pulled a small miracle out of his bag.

“Is that…?”

It was. Out of a thick plastic insulation bag came a large carton of curly fries. And a freaking milk shake. Stiles gasped and snatched it up, tearing off the lid to uncover chocolaty goodness.

His mouth snapped shut and he gave them an appraising look as he tossed the lid on the table and gathered up the fries. “Okay. Fine.”

“Fine?” Chris asked, bemused.

Stiles sat back in his seat, kicking his feet up on the table as he gulped down the top inch of frothy goodness before it could spill over. He nodded as he ate his first curly fry in weeks and sighed happily.

“Care to elaborate, sweetheart?” Peter prompted, folding his arms with an expectant expression.

“Fine, as in verbal agreement. Obviously,” Stiles waved a curly fry in the air, indicating the three of them. “This. Us. It’s a done deal.”

He expected this announcement to get another chuckle out of them. Instead, Chris went still and sober, and Peter sucked in a hard breath like he’d been sucker punched.

“Is that so,” Chris said, eyes tracing the length of Stiles’ outstretched legs.

Stiles forged ahead, shaking his box of fried goodness at them, “You brought me curly fries. That’s like… emotionally binding. You’re stuck with me now.”

The two alphas shared a look. He thought he saw Chris give the slightest nod, maybe Peter’s eyes widened the tiniest bit. He couldn’t be sure. He was admittedly distracted slurping up frosty as he tried to watch them covertly.

Lowering the cup, Stiles added slowly, “Unless… you’re the kind of alphas who’d leave an attached omega to his lonesome. Sounds a lot like shirking responsibility after such a grand gesture though.”

He was only half joking, of course, but they didn’t know that. He stared them both down, one after the other, his eyes wide and imploring as he pointedly crunched another fry between his teeth.

In the corner, Natalie was slowly losing her attempt to remain silent and invisible. He could hear her snickering softly to herself.

At least someone found him amusing. Neither of the men across from him even cracked a smile as they shared another unreadable glance.

When Chris turned back to him, he spoke with complete and utter seriousness. “Finish eating, Stiles. Then I think we should get that confirmation exam done.”

For the first time in his life, Stiles dropped a box of curly fries.

~!~

“Okay,” Peter said shortly as he leaned against the hallway wall some twenty-something minutes later. “But what if he goes into Heat on the exam table?”

“Unlikely,” Natalie responded, her patience with the conversation just as thin.

“Yes, but possible. I simply want to cover all our bases here.”

“Legally, yes, I could sign your papers today if that’s what he wants—”

“Then why are we still discussing—”

She held up her hand to stop him, “Morally, Mr. Hale, I am obligated to give him a reasonable chance to consider his options. He’s very young. If a day’s time makes a difference, than we’ll probably be avoiding heartache for everyone involved. And if it doesn’t—which, knowing Stiles, it won’t—then at least he can leave here confident that no one rushed him more than he wanted to rush himself into this.”

“She’s right, Peter,” Chris said unhappily. “It’s worth it to wait.”

Peter huffed, looking away from the caretaker like the sight of her disgusted him.

“I understand the concern about his Heat,” she said, firm but sympathetic, “I won’t sign him over to you tonight, but if he seems too close to travel safely, I can see that you’re reimbursed for a week’s stay the local Heat Hotel.”

When Peter continued to huff and tap his foot irritably, Chris stepped forward to shake her hand.

“That’ll work fine,” Chris agreed, rolling his eyes at Peter to put her at ease.

He might not be the legal mind between them, but he knew a good deal when he heard it. They needed Natalie to support their application, otherwise it could take days or even weeks of hoop jumping between caretakers before they might get another chance to bring him home. He didn’t think Natalie would dare make things difficult for Stile, but the fact remained she had the legal control to approve or roadblock their application.

Only Stiles had the ability to deny them outright, and that clearly wasn’t happening. It never would, if Chris had anything to say about it.

As Natalie took off to check on Stiles and the dayshift Halfway nurse, Chris turned to Peter.

“A Heat Hotel? Really?” Peter scoffed.

“I don’t like it either,” Chris agreed full heartedly. “But it’s not a point worth fighting. We said we’d do this right, and we are. He deserves the chance to think it over, and we can give him a single night, Peter,”

Peter’s jaw tensed in displeasure. “Yeah, I know. I just hate the idea of knotting him for the first time anywhere other than our bed.”

“I know,” Chris murmured, pulling Peter into his arms. “Me too,”

Gradually, Peter relaxed against him. He mumbled grumpily into his throat, “I want him to be ours already, Chris,”

“Me too,” he repeated, kissing his lover’s ear.

They pulled apart, calmer and collected, when Natalie returned for them.

She held out a pair of blue gloves to each of them. “Normally, at this stage most omegas are cool with direct skin contact,” she explained, “But given the situation, I think it might be best to take the added precaution.”

“We’ll use the gloves,” Chris acquiesced, taking his pair.

“Disappointing,” Peter said mildly as he accepted his own, “But best not to tempt fate, I suppose,”

“Alright then. Right this way,” and she spun on her heel to lead them into one of the three medical rooms.

Stiles was waiting for them in a shapeless paper gown, perched on the exam table and bouncing his heels off its side carelessly. He blushed, hot and delectable. The boy was easily ten times more appealing in real-life as apposed to through a screen.

“Hey. Did you miss me?” he asked cheekily.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Chris responded honestly.

The door opened and shut behind them, and they turned to see a slight woman with dark curls and dressed in scrubs. “Hello, I’m Melissa. You must be Chris and Peter?”

Chris nodded, holding up his gloved hands instead of the customary handshake.

“Hello, Melissa.” Peter smiled charmingly, “I suppose you’re familiar with our boy already, are you?”

She smiled, pulling on her own gloves. “I am. Stiles and I go way back,”

Stiles gave an energetic nod, “Yeah, way, way back. Two weeks back, even. She did my admission screening when I first got in, and she’s been micromanaging my Adderall ever since.”

“That’ll be your job soon, I’m guessing,” She shot Chris a wink before motioning for Stiles to lay down.

“I think we can manage,” he assured her.

As their boy scooted up the table, Melissa pulled out the stirrups. “Feet up, babe,”

He followed her direction, and Chris felt Peter leaning sideways as the paper gown slid up those pale thighs. Chris slipped two fingers in Peter’s belt loop and tugged him off balance, smirking.

Peter pinched his ass in retaliation.

“Have either of you had any experience with omegas before?” Natalie asked.

“Not sexually,” Chris answered.

“We know the textbook information,” Peter explained, “Maybe better than the average alpha. We have an omega niece; her presentation brought up some curiosity for several pack members at the time.”

“Well, this isn’t textbook learning,” Melissa snickered, pulling up a stool between Stiles’ feet after she laid a paper sheet over his splayed knees. She looked back and their eye as she reached under the sheet.

Stiles gasped, just a little.

“You’d be surprised how many alphas make it this far with no idea where a prostate or clitoris is. Deep breath, Stiles,”

Chris watched Stiles’ face avidly, Peter right along with him. The omega bit his lip, perpetually red with his eyes darting anywhere and everywhere except at them. His hands lay high on his stomach, fingers flailing. He stilled, mouth drawing into a fine line, in response to whatever Melissa was doing between his legs.

“We know where a prostate is,” Chris assured her.

Beside him, Peter surveyed him with heated eyes and a sexy lilt to his lips. “Indeed, we do.”

On the table, Stiles muttered something under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like ‘spontaneous combustion.’

“Okay,” Melissa said after a moment, continuing with good humor and without fanfare. “I can officially guarantee, as of right now, this omega is mature and his birthing channel fully and perfectly formed. He’s fertile. In case that’s in anyway unclear.”

She stood then, her professionalism slipping further as she held out one gloved hand expectantly, “Who wants to go first.”

“I’ll fight you,” Peter warned him, swatting Chris’ arm out of his path to Melissa’s waiting palm. 

“Have it your way,” Chris dropped his hand immediately, “But I call first dibs on his first knot then.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles whispered toward the ceiling, awed and embarrassed. “Chris! You can’t just _say_ _things_ like that!”

Peter paused, dismay and regret evident on his face for a brief moment. “Such a sore loser, Christopher,” he sneered, giving Melissa his hand.

Chris wasn’t jealous as he watched Peter’s hand disappear beneath the sheet. He was hard, painfully so, and actively imagining when he and Peter might finger their sweet boy’s hole together. Without the gloves.

Stiles gasped aloud this time, his knees jerking as Peter touched him for the first time.

Chris side-stepped to get a look at Peter’s expression too. The wolf crouched beside Melissa, his mouth lax and open. His dear lover looked... awed. 

Neither of them had ever, never ever, felt an omega. They’d heard about it, certainly, and fantasized, of course. But they’d had no way of actually knowing what an omega might feel like. Not before today.

Chris dug his fingers into his arm, telling himself to be patient. He could hardly wait for his turn.

“Omegas are different,” Melissa said, a sneaky grin in her voice like she was letting them in on a great secret.

Peter gave a breathless little laugh, “I can see that.”

She shook her head at him, nudging him with her shoulder. “You don’t need to be quite so cautious. He’s amazingly elastic and his nerves are condensed and layered there in ways ours aren’t. Watch his face and feel.”

Peter and Chris focused on Stiles’ face and the omega immediately flopped his arm over his eyes, groaning in dismay as he blushed.

“Don’t you dare hide from us, omega,” Chris growled, and he’d never thought of his own voice as so undeniably _alpha_ sounding before.

Stiles’ responding whine was more anger than anything, but he obediently lowered his arm.

“Good boy,” Peter whispered, then— 

“Ugh!” Stiles threw his head back, mouth and eyes wide open and delightedly shocked as he clenched at the johnny over his chest.

“Oh,” Peter said dumbly. Peter never did anything dumbly.

Chris stepped closer, helplessly curious. “What?” he demanded.

Melissa patted Peter’s shoulder with her free hand. “See what I mean? Anal stimulation does wonders for most omegas.”

“Wonders,” Stiles nodded like a bobble head doll. “Yeah. That. Damn. I could be okay with more of that, I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Peter chuckled darkly, “Sweetheart, I would love to give you what you want right now, but I think we better give Chris a turn.”

His hand slipped free of the paper sheet and Stiles whined pitifully.

“Poor thing,” Peter whispered to himself as they switched places.

Chris concurred entirely. Even to his human nose, Stiles smelled like slick and frustration. All he wanted was to make it better. With his penis, preferably, but he’d be happy enough to put his mouth or fingers to work too.

Speaking of…

Melissa guided his hand beneath the sheet and it was hot as blazes under there. Fuck, he knew Stiles would be warm to the touch, but good lord. His gloved fingertips brushed over the soft flesh of his omega’s perineum and even through the latex he could feel the burning slick.

Chris cleared his parched throat, “Is he supposed to be this hot?”

Melissa shrugged, “He’s near enough to Heat, I wouldn’t be concerned. Here,”

Chris felt her move around their fingers, and she pressed over his nailbed to direct him lower. He felt the furled skin of Stiles’ hole and excitement buzzed in his veins.

“Same as I told Peter,” Melissa said kindly, “Don’t underestimate him, remember he’s built for this.”

Then she rammed his middle and forefinger in and up much too hard. Chris gasped right along with Stiles as he felt the digits slide inside before the sensation fully registered.

“Fuck me,” Stiles pleaded, his legs trembling.

Chris felt wet heat gush around the glove, and he abruptly realized that the force hadn’t hurt the omega in the slightest. The flesh around his fingertips was pulsing and snug, but it wasn’t the frightful tightness he’d expected to encounter. There was resistance, oh, yes, but the pressure exuded by those muscles was welcoming, it didn’t fight to keep him out even a little bit.

“It’s alright,” Melissa encouraged, seeing whatever look was on his face. “Go ahead and pull a little on his rim. He’s nice and sensitive there.”

“Wait!” Stiles cried, hands over his eyes in mortification. “Give me a minute.”

“Do it, Chris,” Peter growled hotly. “He’ll come if you do it now,”

Melissa whipped her hand out, her stool rolling back with her on it as she held her hands up. “That’s up to you. I just work here.”

In the far corner, Natalie failed yet again to make like an unobtrusive statue as she sighed and gave up. “Whatever. Do what you want.”

“Oh my God, this is so embarrassing…” Stiles muttered into his hands.

“Nothing to be embarrassed of, darling,” Chris promised as he slowly applied more and more pressure.

Despite Natalie’s pronouncement, he doubted she’d let him throw that blasted paper sheet out of the way so he could see the blistering, soaked flesh he was touching. So instead, he played nice and watched Stiles’ face.

“No hiding, Stiles,” Peter reminded him helpfully, prompted Stiles to remove his hands from his face.

The boy was bright red, panting through his lax mouth between frantic little nibbles of his lower lip. He was beautiful and desperate, and so very, very wary.

A kinder alpha might have let him go, might have left him alone in the room to take care of himself in privacy. Chris wasn’t really all that kind, when it came down to certain things.

He took the nurse’s advice and pulled. Harder than he’d have dreamed to do if he’d been touching Peter. Stiles gave a short, strangled scream, clapping a hand over his mouth, and for one terrifying instant Chris feared he’d made a mistake.

Stiles’ body spasmed around his fingertips and something wet and milky dripped onto the bare skin of his wrist. It wasn’t until he spotted the stain on the Johnny that he realized Stiles had orgasmed.

Holy fuck.


	6. Six

The eighteen hours between leaving the Halfway House after the exam and returning to collect their omega were a haze. Peter vaguely remembered a bizarre trip to a local shop, Chris white-knuckling Melissa’s list of recommended items, but he couldn’t remember what they had for dinner. Thai, maybe.

Ah. But he did remember taking his frustration at Stiles’ absence out on Chris’ ass at the hotel. He remembered that quite well.

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” Chris told him as they pulled up to The Halfway’s front Gate, “Stop it. We need to be semi-respectable for at least the next hour—”

Peter opened his mouth to profess the angelic innocence of his thoughts, but thought better of it at Chris’ pointed look.

“Also,” the human alpha said wisely, “Remember how we don’t want Stiles slipping into an early Heat before we get him home.”

Peter gave a resigned sigh. “Point taken.”

“I’m sure you can find something other than sex to think about for the next few hours.”

Christopher, Peter decided not twenty minutes later, was a flaming hypocrite. The moment Stiles joined them in Martin’s office, Chris’ scent turned molten and musky with a sharp spike of desire. To be fair, Peter empathized entirely.

He wasn’t dressed particularly special, just an Ironman t-shirt and jeans. It didn’t matter. He had the sweetest, most endearingly excited smile on his face, and he practically exuded joy and relief at the sight of them. And that had nothing on the scent of jittery omega interest wafting off him in waves, even carrying a bit of slick to Peter’s nose.

Fuck. There was no way they were going to make it all the way to Roseville. Not without Peter getting his hands and mouth all over the delicious boy.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Peter purred, not particularly caring if it sounded more like a come-on than a simple greeting.

“Morning, Stiles.” Chris said, and while his voice wasn’t dripping sex, there was a definite sense of pure alpha satisfaction.

Stiles blushed beautifully, his arms going straight as he shoved his fingers in his pockets. “Yeah,” he winced, “I mean, hi. Hello. Good to see you again. Like, really, _really_ good. I half expected you guys to reconsider.”

Peter gave him a slow once-over. “We would never,”

That darling blushed deepened. Peter was dying to see how far down his pale body it went.

“Alright.” Martin said loudly, calling their attention as she stood at her desk. They watched her tap a stack of papers into a neat pile and staple it together with a firm jab at the stapler. “You’re all set, gentlemen. Stiles, Congratulations. You are officially adopted.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispered to no one in particular. “This is actually happening.”

“It is,” Chris said with a smug grin.

“This is your copy,” Martin said, waving the stabled papers between the two other alphas.

“I’ll take that,” Peter promptly took it from her, and it felt unreasonably good to have the legal proof, solid and final in black and white, in his hands.

They had an omega. Their very own omega.

Tactless gifts notwithstanding, Talia was going to lose her shit when she learns they’d gone ahead and actually done it.

“Obviously,” Martin said offhandedly as she sat back down, “The two of you are responsible for deciding what to do with him now, but it is my job to remind you that transference of alpha ownership outside of state-operated Halfway channels is highly illegal and severely punishable by state and federal law.”

“Thank you, but the reminder isn’t necessary,” Chris assured her, slowly reaching out to brush a finger against Stiles’ cheek.

The omega tensed, a soft, expectant sigh squeaking out of him.

“We won’t be giving him up,”

“Not in this lifetime,” Peter agreed, deftly placing the adoption papers into the briefcase he’d brought for that exact purpose.

“Good,” Martin nodded, wholly unsurprised, “Then once he’s been Heat-bound to both of you and potentially bred, remember you are required by law to update his status.”

Peter somehow refrained from telling her they’d be diligently working on that for the next week. He was less successful at keeping his eyeroll to himself and Chris kicked him in the shin in pointed rebuke.

Martin continued without pause. “Until you collar him and update his status as your mate, his record will show him as adopted. You can do the exam and file the paperwork at any Halfway House, or use your local doctor, provided they have accreditation for an omega practice.”

“Our pack’s physician should be able to handle it,” Peter said, with a respectful nod, “But thank you for the prompting just the same,”

She shrugged, unbothered by the dismissal, “Of course. That’s the job.”

A high pitched whine interrupted any further chance for conversation.

Peter turned to see Chris casually resting his hand on Stiles’ nape, where it clearly belonged. The dear boy looked like he might melt into a surprised puddle of omega bliss. Either that, or he’d vibrate right out of his skin from nervous excitement.

“We should get going.” Chris said with a cocky grin and a tilt of his head toward the door.

Martin laughed. “Goodbye, Stiles,”

The boy barely managed a stunned “bye,” as Chris steered him out of the room. Two additional steps toward the building exit, and Peter caught up so he could take hold of the omega’s errant hand.

It was intensely pleasing, feeling that hand latch onto him like a lifeline.

“Have you had breakfast yet, sweetheart?” Peter asked mildly.

Stiles didn’t turn to look at him, only followed him with his eyes, as if he thought moving too much might dislodge Chris’ hand. “Um… no? They were serving pancakes again and the head cook tends to undercook the batter, which is like, _way_ no bueno. And I’ve sorta been three seconds away from nervous vomiting nearly all night anyway, so I figured: better not risk it.”

Chris made an unhappy hum and slid his freehand over to lightly pat Stiles’ slender tummy. “Let’s go fill you up then.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles stage whispered, mortified and aroused in an instant.

“Christopher,” Peter scolded in his most irritated and scandalized tone.

Chris frowned convincingly back at him. “Get your mind out of the gutter,”

“Then stop putting it there!” Stiles hissed, patting at his burning face with the hand not captured by Peter.

“No kidding,” Peter agreed, giving Stiles’ hand a squeeze.

Chris shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “Food, boys. We’re going to get food.”

“Oh,” Stiles dropped his hand, blush receding. “Food, yeah. I could do food. Why didn’t you just say so.”

Chris’ fingers tightened on the boy’s nape as he pulled the back door of their car open. He released him with a playful little shove, “Get in the car,”

“Best do as he says,” Peter advised, “But one thing first,”

“What—oof!”

Stiles gasped as Peter tugged on their joined hands, wiping the boy around to face him and bringing him nice and close. Stiles was tall, willowy even, for an omega, and his nose near collided with Peter’s mouth. Nearly. But of course, Peter had a wolf’s reflexes and god-given gift for being smooth as fuck (Chris’ words, not his).

Peter brought his mouth down on Stiles’ lips and fireworks kicked off in his brain. Sweet and tangy, and pure, smooth _omega_ was on his lips, his tongue. That primal part of his mind that always seemed that much more wolfish than the rest of him roared to life with instinct and Peter nearly stumbled.

God damn, but the boy’s taste was heavenly.

“Ah!” Stiles cried, alarmed and thrilled as Peter laid paid to his mouth.

Ever the opportunist, Peter licked into that open mouth, exploring and demanding. He kissed him for the first time like he hadn’t kissed Chris until the first full moon they’d spent together. Wild. Dominant. Owning.

Stiles was shaking like a leaf in his arms. A very stunned, slick-soaked leaf.

Peter pried his mouth away with a hard breath and said: “Now get in the car,”

~!~

Chris would never be more thankful for anything than he was for the foresight that had told him to opt for the late checkout option. The ride back to the hotel was full of tense silence as they tried to pretend sex wasn’t the first thing on each of their minds.

Well. It was relatively silent. There wasn’t so much as a word from Chris or Peter.

“—I’ll never doubt Lydia again,” Stiles continued babbling as Peter yanked him out of the elevator by his grip on his bicep. “This is like Hollywood-level fancy. I think that bellhop might have chased me off if I showed up in trainers and my favorite plaid—Woah! Okay. Guess this us.”

Chris swiped his key card and pushed Stiles inside with a hand on his lower back. Peter still wasn’t letting go either, so the two of them passed straight under his nose on their way into the hotel room.

The door clicked shut, and Stiles yelped as he was thrust into the nearest recliner.

Chris pulled up beside Peter till they were shoulder-to-shoulder, looming over the omega. The two alphas shared a look.

“Check out’s in three hours,” Chris said as he plucked the thick black booklet off the side table and held it out toward Stiles. “We’ll order room service, so pick out what you want.”

Stiles hesitated, eyeing the menu like it might be a venomous snake in disguise. When he finally deign to take it, he turned those speculative eyes up at them. “Okay. Then what?”

“Then we call the concierge and place the order,” Peter explained patiently.

“Uh hu. And then…?” Stiles made a go-on motion with his hand, nodding his head along to reinforce the gesture.

Chris smirked. “And then we’re going to do something about all that slick you’re leaking before the food comes.”

Stiles jerked upright and flailed about till he was hidden behind the open menu.

Peter laughed.

“Rude.” Stiles muttered into the menu. The avoidance tactic might have been more impressive if he didn’t have to flip the menu right-side up, red faced and tight lipped, as they laughed at him.

Ten minutes and an accumulation of slick so thick Chris could smell it from across the room later, and brunch was ordered. Stiles sat on the literal edge of the recliner, knee bouncing as he looked between them with barely contained anticipation.

Peter caught his eye and sent him a questioning look. Chris nodded and accepted the reigns for the time being.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress and quirked a finger at Stiles, beckoning him. The sweet thing nearly tumbled to the floor in his hast to obey. Yes. Because theirs was a perfect, sweetly submissive omega, wasn’t he.

Stiles stopped in front of him, and before the boy could totter with uncertainty of what to do next, Chris gripped those skinny hips and pulled him onto his lap.

“You owe me a kiss,” he whispered, nose touching a pale jaw lightly.

Stiles shivered. “O-oh?”

“Hmm,” Chris confirmed as he cupped the side of the boy’s face and pressed him into the right angle. 

Then they were kissing, and it was wonderful and sweet and hauntingly delicious. And it was absolutely nothing like what he’d ever enjoyed with Peter. For the first time in years, Chris kissed without the need to fight for the upper hand, because Stiles surrendered so beautifully, so immediately. The boy tasted and felt perfect, that unimaginably illusive tang of omega with its previously unknown warmth and softness.

It was addicting. Not just the taste, but the easy, open submission encapsulated in every inch of Stiles’ lovely body against him. No wonder alphas used to fight to the death for this.

With a gentle nibble to his boy’s lip, Chris broke the kiss. “That’s my good omega,”

Stiles sat there on his thigh, shaking and panting and disoriented. He was so achingly adorable, it hurt.

Chris petted through that chestnut brown hair, “Alright, love. Stand up for me,”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Yeah, ugh… about that. I don’t think my legs could hold me just yet.”

Peter chuckled darkly. “How about I hold you up instead,”

Stiles gave a surprised whimpered as Peter hoisted him off Chris’ lap. Chris watched his lover cradle their boy’s back to his chest, and Peter shot him a devilish smirk as he nuzzled the omega’s neck.

And Stiles, oh, sweet, sweet Stiles, dropped his head to the side to bare himself so effortlessly.

“Let’s get you taken care of, sweetheart,” Peter whispered as he flicked open the button to Stiles’ jeans.

It was Chris who pulled the zipper down.

“Fuck,” Stiles whined, trembling hard.

Chris curled his fingers into the waistband, paused, then decided to slip under the top elastic of Stiles’ briefs while he was at it. “It’s alright, love. We’ve got you.”

As he tugged on the pants, Chris watched Peter’s arms tighten around Stiles. One arm ensnared the boy’s waist, pinning him to Peter’s body. The other rubbed over Stiles’ heaving chest soothingly before dropping lower so the alpha could hike up his t-shirt and splay his hand over his vulnerable belly.

“Last night, after we left,” Peter asked, almost conversationally. “Did you play with yourself, Stiles? Hm?”

Stiles squirmed, “… Maybe. Could you blame me?”

Two sharp hip bones and so much creamy white skin came into view. Chris trailed his fingers around, underneath the briefs, so he could push them down and simultaneously get a good feel of that pert little ass. One finger slid a bit between the cheeks, and Chris took a harsh breath at the feel of wetness.

“My God,” Stiles whined, just the slightest bit panicky. “Wait. I… I don’t—I can’t… Fuck. I don’t know what to do,”

“Shush,” Chris leaned in to press a kiss to his hip. The taste of his skin was as good as his mouth had been. Maybe even better, so close to where he was hot and soaked.

“You’re fine,” Peter promised, still nuzzling. “You’re new and nervous, no one’s expecting you to know anything.”

“All you have to do,” Chris nodded encouragingly once Stiles met his eye, “is let us take care of you,”

Breathing hard, the boy mimicked his nod.

Chris smiled, “Good boy,”

The pants fell to the floor and Chris’ cock throbbed at the sight right in front of him.

Stiles was perfect. Like all omegas, he was hairless, his testicles high and tight, underdeveloped as they were. His cock was pink and lovely, a respectable size, though it would look dwarfed compared to an alpha. At that thought, Chris was tempted to shuck his own pants just to see it, to confirm his suspicion that the size difference would be one of the hottest things on the planet.

But he didn’t. They had a plan. He had to stick to the plan.

In the moment it took Chris to admire him, Stiles’ slick had begun to run rivulets down his inner thighs. Chris helped Stiles step out of his pants, then he used the briefs to wipe his legs. Stiles widened his stance without prompting, like the absolute darling he was.

“Are you too close to Heat, sweetheart?” Chris asked as calmly as he could manage. “If we touch you without a glove, will you be fine for a six-hour car ride so we can get you home?”

Stiles gasped and it sounded nearly like a sob. “I don’t know!”

“Okay, hey, it’s okay,” Peter soothed him, with words and peppering kisses and gentle circles rubbed into his stomach.

“Lay him down,” Chris said, getting to his feet. “I’ll get the bag.”

He retrieved the items they’d bought at Melissa’s recommendation, and when he returned to the bed his breath caught at the sight.

Peter and Stiles lay together, the former on his side so he could look his fill at the naked body beside him. In the seconds Chris’ back had been turned, he’d stripped their omega down entirely, leaving that smooth, slender omega form fully exposed. There were moles and freckles scattered all over him, and Chris wanted to draw lines between them with his tongue. The boy’s nipples were a dusky brown, hard with arousal. And with Peter stretched out beside him, fully clothed, he looked impossibly lovely.

Chris joined them, seating himself by Stiles’ knee as he opened the shopping bag. Just to be safe, he put on a glove.

“Open your legs, darling,” Peter directed, helpfully cupping beneath the leg closest to him and pulling it over his hip.

Stiles slapped his hands over his face with a groan, eyes shut tight as he flushed. They were going to have to work on that, Chris thought absently; he didn’t like how often Stiles tried to hide his face from them when he was overwhelmed.

“Good boy,” Chris praised, handing a glove out to Peter.

Peter shook his head with a wink. “I’m fine with this,”

Without further warning, Peter wrapped his fingers loosely around Stiles’ straining cock. The dear boy tensed so hard, the muscles in his lower belly quivered.

“I’m not,” Stiles gripped breathlessly, shaking his head, “I am _not_ fine. I’m so hard it hurts,”

Chris chuckled, “I know, love. We’re gonna take the edge off.”

Stiles’ back arched as Chris pushed two fingers insider his hole. He was just as hot and plush and delightfully wet as yesterday. This time though… this time, they could see the pink furl parting and clenching. It was amazing.

“Look at you,” Peter whispered heatedly, eyes fixed where Chris was penetrating the boy. His hand on Stiles’ dick had gone still from the distraction.

Stiles whined, bucking his hips.

“I know, love,” Chris consoled even as he tested that incredible elasticity by scissoring his fingers. Yesterday, he’d only taken them an inch deep; with a giddy excitement, Chris pushed deeper. One slow, long thrust, straight to the knuckle.

Stiles keened loudly, his hands pulling at his hair fretfully as his mouth gaped open in pleasure.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Peter purred, “You are going to take our cocks so well.”

“Yeah, he is,” Chris agreed, rubbing along silken walls and evoking the most wonderful noises.

For a brief moment, he considered slipping his third finger in. Stiles was tight and hungry around him, but he had no doubt he’d welcome more in a heartbeat. Just as quickly, the impulse passed though: this was enough for now.

Besides. They only wanted to give him enough to get through the afternoon.

Peter’s hand stroked lazily. He tightened his grip just a bit and twisted his wrist till Stiles cursed.

“So responsive,” Peter murmured, pleased.

“He’ll be even more so once we get him home,” Chris replied, then to Stiles: “Isn’t that right, love? You want to go home and do this properly, don’t you? Skin to skin,”

Stiles nodded so hard, Chris worried he’d give himself wipelash. “Yeah. Yeah. That. All of that. Oh, please. Please, can I come?!”

“What a good, good boy,” Peter said, eyes bright as he leaned down push Stiles’ idle hands away so he could nip at his throat. “Asking so nicely. You’re so perfect, sweetheart.”

“Go ahead, love,” Chris said with a helpful tug of his fingers that made Stiles jump. “We can do a drawn-out session some other time. Go on. Come on my fingers.”

He pulled back just a little and curled the digits so he’d swipe over his prostate. As Stiles gasped, Chris parted his fingers just a little and applied the same kind of pressure he’d used yesterday to bring him over the edge.

It was so easy. They hardly needed to try. Peter’s grip was still fairly loose and Chris was barely two fingers and as many minutes in. It didn’t matter. Stiles came apart for them like he was born for it.

“Beautiful,” Chris declared, reluctantly slipping free of the twitching hole.

He hoped breakfast would be up soon. They needed to head home so they could fuck the daylights out of their boy.

~!~

Stiles was brain dead. Kaput. Done.

Sweet Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the donkey they road in on. And it’s fleas. How did he, Stiles Stilinski, all around nerd and hyperactive spaz, end up here. In an extravagant hotel, between two hot-like-burning alphas who seemed just delusional enough to find him attractive. He must be dead. It was the only explanation.

Something wet and cool touched his stomach and Stiles jumped.

“Easy,” Peter said, stroking his shoulder. “I’m just cleaning you up a bit. You made a mess.”

Stiles blushed as he looked down. “Damn,” he squeaked. “That’s…. a lot.”

The alphas chuckled, and the sound was deep and rumbling and full of so much alpha satisfaction that it made Stiles’ insides flutter.

“Don’t worry,” Chris said, bringing his own damp cloth to bear on Stiles’ inner knee. He gentle swiped upward as he spoke with an anticipatory grin, “You won’t always respond so intensely. We just have to get you used to our touch.”

“Mmm, might take a while,” Peter agreed, and the appreciation in his tone was only a little at odds with the careful way, he dabbed at Stiles’ sensitive cock head with the cloth.

“I hope not too long,” Stiles admitted nervously, not even joking, “Too much of that, and I might start permanently losing IQ points.”

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Peter kissed his temple as he tossed away the soiled cloth.

“On that note,” Chris added ominously.

At the sound of crinkling plastic, Stiles leaned up on his elbows to see Chris rummaging into a black shopping bag with the words _Omega Operations_ in big gold letters, with smaller golden cursive beneath reading: _your one-stop shop for Heat-care needs_.

More importantly, Stiles actually recognized the bottle Chris pulled from the back.

“Hey!” Stiles said, interested and a fair bit confused. Why on earth would he need fake pheromones and essence supplements when he finally had the real thing available? “That’s the same brand I used at home!”

“We know,” Chris informed him, opened the bottle, “It was in your file. Melissa suggested using a couple doses just to make sure we can fend off your Heat long enough to make it home.”

“This should be the last time you use anything less than the real deal,” Peter added, sitting up and reaching over Stiles’ prone body so he could retrieve his own medical glove. Once gloved, he took the bottle and tapped a single capsule into his palm.

“Open up, sweetheart.” Chris said, unceremoniously gripping the omega by the thighs and spreading him wide.

Stiles squealed, fists gripping the bed in alarm. He was suddenly feel very exposed, more so than he’d been as they pleasured him. At least then, their hands had obscured their view and they hadn’t been studying him so boldly.

Mouth dry and face freshly hot, Stiles offered: “I know how to do it—”

“No,” they shot him down promptly. Irrefutably.

Then Peter was slipping the medication inside him, and Stiles was so sensitive down there, still buzzing from the orgasm. He twitched and groaned as hot electricity shot up his spine. His hole spasmed.

“Very nice,” Peter purred. His lone fingertip leisurely thrust in and out a couple times, the bastard.

Stiles made a strangled sound that possibly conveyed how very near death he was. With an evil little chuckle, Peter removed his finger, and Stiles knew then that that he was the one he had to watch out for. He might just kill him. Spontaneous combustion. It could happen.

“Have you ever used a plug outside of Heat?” Chris asked. He held up a small, white silicone toy that was, embarrassingly enough, a bit smaller than Stiles’ standard Heat-aid.

Stiles groaned pitifully at the sight. “Do I have to?” he whined.

“Yes,” Peter answered, swiping his finger over Stiles’ entrance teasingly.

Annoyingly, Stiles felt himself clench and release involuntarily, grabbing for something. But not anything. He didn’t think he downgrade back to a small toy at this point.

“Can’t we just go back to the fingering me thing?”

Peter growled.

“As much as we’d love to,” Chris said, eyes hot as he considered the inviting orifice in question, “That kind of defeat the point. We need you not to be quite so… distracting.”

“I can smell the food coming down the hall,” Peter warned, snatching the plug from his mate’s hand.

“No!” Stiles whined dramatically.

“Yes,” Chris corrected, undeterred as he watched on.

Peter’s gloved fingers rubbed over his hole again, hard enough to make Stiles twitch. While the omega was busy gasping, he pressed the silicon against him, gentle but firm, and Stiles’ traitorous body sucked it in without further prompting.

Annoyingly, it felt pretty damn good. And, as intended, he wouldn’t be leaking slick all over the car now.

A knock rapped their door, with a cheery call: “Room service!”

Chris got up to accept the food, and Peter patted his hip to usher him off the bed.

“Go shower properly.” Peter instructed. “Once you don’t smell so much like sex, you can eat. Sooner that’s done, the sooner we can head home.”

“And the sooner you can fuck me?” Stiles asked with an innocent flutter of his eyelashes.

Peter’s eyes flashed red. That was the only warning he had before a loud, not particularly painful smack landed on his rear. “Shower. Now.”

Stiles gaped at him, rubbing his bottom with utter indignation.

Peter smirked. “Was that not hard enough?”

“No,” Stiles said mildly, “It was fine,”

“Go.”

“…Yes, Alpha,”

Peter growled. Near the kitchenette, Chris groaned like he’d been sucker punched. It was oddly nice, feeling two pairs of hungry eyes following him as he skipped off to the bathroom.

Stiles decided then and there, he wasn’t going to question his fortune further. If some twist of fate saw fit to bless him, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth. Stiles was many things, but he was not stupid.


	7. Seven

“This is amazing!” Stiles cried, all but zooming around the open layout of the kitchen and living room.

He was adorable. Chris perched himself on the corner of the couch so he could watch the omega explore his new home, and it was honestly more entertaining than anything he’d ever seen on TV.

“How long do you think this will last?” Peter said conversationally, standing between the couch and coffee table with his hands on his hips, head tilted in consideration as he watched on.

Chris shrugged.

“Ah!” Stiles shrieked, opening yet another kitchen cabinet. “What holy grail is this!? You have an espresso machine!? Can I use it!? I can, can’t I!? Oooh! And you have a pasta maker! I’ve never made homemade noodles before, but I always wanted to try—”

“I imagine,” Chris answered Peter with a happy sigh, “He’ll keep going either till he runs out of steam or we intervene. Are you particularly inclined?”

Peter shook his head slowly. “No. Not yet, I suppose.”

“Oh my God! Peter!?” Stiles cried out, abandoning the pasta press in favor of rushing to the window that overlooked their backyard. “You have a firepit! Is that the same spot from your application picture? It looks like it.”

Chris laughed openly as they watched Stiles fumble with the door latch leading to the back porch. When the door finally popped open, the omega flew out with all exuberance of a cooped-up pup.

“Christopher.” Peter said in that tone that meant he’d reached a decision. “I’m going to make a phone call. If he’s still running around when I’m done, I might just have to hunt him down.”

As Peter disappeared toward the home office, Chris picked himself off the couch to head out after Stiles. Peter wasn’t the only one feeling the urge to chase the brat down.

Except Stiles had stopped running. Surprisingly.

He found the omega sitting on the footrest of a lounge chair, his shoulders slumped, hands clasped between his knees, and somber eyes on the late afternoon sky.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Chris prompted, easing down beside him.

Stiles’ mouth twitched as he grunted softly in acknowledgement.

Chris gripped the nape of his neck and gave it a firm squeeze till he felt the tension in the boy’s shoulders slacken.

“Would you rather I leave you be for a bit?”

He barely began to release his grip when Stiles leaned into the touch needily. “No. It’s fine. This is nice. Maybe you could just hold on for a minute? If you don’t mind, I mean,”

“I don’t mind at all,”

So far, Stiles had been a wild hurricane of activity and excited nerves barely contained in his slight frame. Even for the long ride home, he’d been a whirlwind of random conversation and bubbling emotion. He was remarkably bright a witty, and in the back of his mind Chris had been waiting for the melancholic reflection on the recent changes to his life to temper that vivid exuberance.

It was expected, and even the suddenness of the mood change wasn’t unusual for an omega with anxiety issues. That didn’t stop Chris from wanted fix it.

Fortunately, Chris was pretty good at being patient. He wouldn’t rush Stiles.

He was used to dealing with Peter in personal situations like this. Peter could hold a grudge like it was his job, and he could harbor private thoughts for ages before he’d be ready to share with his lover. Chris knew how to wait it out, how to accept not knowing and not being able to help in the meantime. If Peter had taught him nothing else, he’d taught him how to earn ironclad trust through the long haul.

But Stiles was not Peter.

They sat together on the lounge chair for no more than three, maybe five minutes max. It was the longest stretch of silence he’d heard from Stiles yet.

“We’re far up here.” Stiles said, sounding almost resigned. “Like, _really_ far north. I spent so much time planning to stay close to home, like in the county, hopefully. I mean, my dad… for the longest time, it’s been just the two of us, and I was desperate to try and stay close to him.” He gave a sardonic, soft laugh, “I had in my head that I’d still be able to do weekly meal prep for him. He eats like garbage if I don’t keep the kitchen on lock down.”

Chris tugged him close, kissing his head and staying with his mouth pressed to him. “He’ll be alright. You’ll both adjust to the distance in time.”

Stiles nodded sadly. “Yeah, I know that. I mean, I know it, logically. But it doesn’t feel like it.”

“I understand,”

And he did. There was a far cry between grasping a concept and accepting it on an emotional level. And Stiles, sweet, brilliant Stiles, was so very young, untried in so many ways.

Chris just wanted to bundle him up and shield him from the world. Which was insane, and a dangerous line of thinking. He and Peter never wanted to be the kind of traditionalist alpha who would lock up their omega like a prized object. The idea of stifling Stiles like that was nothing short of abhorrent.

“I miss him.” Stiles sighed, “Family isn’t allowed to visit at The Halfway Houses. They say it’s important to make a clean break.”

It was supposed to make the transition to a new home easier, Chris knew. For the most part, he thought it was a good idea. It certainly had worked out that way for Laura; since presenting at nine years old, Peter’s niece had never been happier than after she’d found herself out from under Talia’s control. And it wasn’t like Laura had been abused or anything heinous either. Some omegas were not so lucky.

Not like Stiles, who been raised by a supportive, forward-thinking alpha.

“We need to get you phone this week,” Chris commented idly. “That way you can call him whenever you’d like.”

Stiles smiled hesitantly. “I can have my own phone?”

Chris met his eye, stoically unimpressed with the question. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly hyper controlling as far as alphas go.”

The boy’s smile widened just a bit. “Thank goodness. I just hope you still think like that in a week’s time when the honeymoon’s over and I start driving you crazy.”

“I doubt that.”

Before Stiles could argue further, Chris shut him up with a kiss. He got one fresh taste of sweet, luscious omega, and he was done with conversation.

~!~

Peter finally got off the phone after clearing his schedule for the next two weeks, and frowned when he realized the sun was beginning to set. He’d taken longer than he’d expected.

Oh well. Surely, by now Stiles would have run out of nooks and crannies to stick his cute little nose into.

He found them outback on the grass. Stiles was nearly naked, just socks and a t-shirt scrunched up and caught at his armpits. Chris’s button-down was open, his belt undone but jeans still zipped, as he crouched over the omega. Stiles’ hands were in Chris hair, holding on for dear life as the alpha bit and suckled at his nipples.

“Well isn’t this a lovely sight,” Peter mused aloud as he dropped into the wicker chair nearest them.

Stiles craned his neck to stare up at him, wide eyed. “P-Peter!”

“Don’t mind me, sweetheart,” Peter said, enjoying the way Stiles’ eyes grew even wider at the sight of Peter spreading his legs and palming his bulging crotch. 

Chris gave an impressive growl, almost wolf-like in its intensity, and lifted his head without releasing his latest mouthful. Stiles cried out, arching with the pull to no avail. Peter saw the bruised nub of his teat stretch obscenely, the tip trapped in Chris’ teeth, and his cock throbbed at the sight.

The stench of slick and omega need thickened in the air. Peter breathed it in with a sinister grin.

Stiles squirmed and bucked. “Please, alpha? Please, please!?”

Chris reached between the boy’s legs, and Peter leaned forward to see as Stiles was penetrated, nothing but naked alpha flesh sinking into his pretty hole for the first time.

The omega mewled delightedly, his limbs going weak as he focused on the new sensation.

Chris’ entire arm shifted as he speared his fingers in and out, groaning low and hot at the feeling of that unencumbered wet heat closing in on him.

“How’s he feel?” Peter asked breathlessly, undoing his pants and freeing his aching cock. God, but he thought he could feel his knot pulsing at his base, already interested by the mere scent of omega nearby.

Chris met his eye with unabashed hunger. “Perfect. Wet. Tight. Ready.”

He certainly did look ready.

Stiles’ knuckles were white where he grabbed at Chris’ shoulders. His face was flushed, his eyes just a little unfocused. Peter lifted his ass off the seat just enough to kick them off, stroking himself as he watched Chris work their sweet boy into a desperate frenzy. All that chaotic energy Stiles had unleashed on his inspection of the house had been smoothly redirected for the time being. He was all shaking, needy limbs and loud, pleading noises. He couldn’t lay still, his hands couldn’t decide where to grip, what to do. He lay writhing on the grass, a mess of omega desire and directionless energy.

Peter could help with that.

“Let him up.” He told Chris. “Come here, sweetheart. Come to me now, that’s it.”

Stiles swayed as he was set on his hands and knees, like he was dizzy and not all together aware of how he’d gotten off the ground. Chris kept both hands on the boy’s hips though, keeping him from tottering and urging him forward just the same.

“Fuck,” Chris groaned, shuffling forward on his knees to press his clothed crotch to Stiles’ conveniently placed ass.

“Right here, Stiles,” Peter called, shifting to the edge of his seat so he could reach out and get a handful of the boy’s hair. “Don’t hog him, Christopher.”

Peter adjust his grip when Stiles whined, making sure he was holding firm, but not painful. Together with Chris, he urged the omega to crawl forward and the darling followed beautifully.

“That’s it, baby,” Chris murmured, voice rough. He petted Stiles’ hips and lower back, the roundness of his ass, and Peter noticed the mess of slick staining the front of Chris’ jeans with a thrill.

“Please,” Stiles whined, amber eyes glazed.

They weren’t even fucking him yet, and he was already lost in the haze of his desire. It was so easy, almost effortless, to send him into that special omega headspace, where they’re instincts surmounted nearly everything else.

Peter could not being to imagine what it would be like when Stiles went into Heat. He was already so pliant, so eager. There was no way he could be even more so. Or maybe he could. Peter’s brain just couldn’t picture it.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” Peter said, stroking the boy’s jaw. “Good boy, nice and wide for me.”

Stiles moaned, high and lustful, as Peter set the tip of his cock on his tongue. Immediately, those plush lips closed around his head, that tongue flicking at him, and he suckled like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Maybe it was. Fuck. He was an omega, after all.

“Good boy. Good boy,” Peter chanted heatedly, adjusting his hold in Stiles’ hair with shaking hands.

God. Fuck. Fucking damn.

Stiles’ mouth was starved and eager as his hole. He moaned and slurped, bobbing on the first few inches of Peter’s cock on instinct, and it felt devastatingly good. There was no hesitation, no virginal shyness. The omega’s body knew what it wanted and how to get it.

Eventually, he and Chris would have to teach him how to be patient, how to slow down follow their lead. Eventually.

Right now, Peter didn’t have a hope in the world of stopping the boy. Not that he would want to.

Stiles sank down ambitiously and gagged. Instantly, Peter pulled his handful of hair got the kid off his cock, sputtering.

“Not so fast, sweet boy,” Peter panted, wiping the saliva and precum from Stiles’ chin.

His thumb was still on the boy’s lower lip when he saw those amber eyes roll up and his body gave a mighty tremble. Stiles whined once, short and high.

“Fuck, yes,” Chris snarled.

Peter looked up, and only then did he realize Chris had gotten naked and was rubbing his cockhead over Stiles’ hole. No. Not over. Into. The alpha gripped himself firmly and swiped his tip up from the boy’s balls, pressing hard enough that he’d slip into the hungry little hole just a little, before passing further up his crack.

Stiles shuddered as Chris dipped inside again.

Chris wasn’t quite as thick as Peter, though he was longer, but he was still an alpha. Surely, that small amount was bigger around than anything Stiles had ever felt in there before.

“Poor thing,” Peter murmured, drawing Stiles’ mouth down again. He followed Chris’ lead, and maintained control of the depth this time around with his free hand blocking the second half of his cock.

“Enough,” Chris shook his head as if clearing his mind with shear will. “He’s ready. I’m have to—”

Peter bent over the boy and knocked Chris’ hand from his cock. Chris cried out as Peter guided him in. This time, at last, Chris had no choice but to give in and slam home.

Stiles screamed around his cock.

“Fuck,” Peter hissed, rubbing at the stretched skin of Stiles’ rim against Chris’ girth.

Chris caught his wrist in a bruising grip. “Too much,” He warned, pushing Peter away. “Later. Promise,”

Peter nodded as he slumped back in his chair. “Later. Right now, just give him what he needs.”

It took a few moments, a few shuffling thrusts and minute adjustments on both their parts. Before long, though, Stiles was moaning and undulating between them seamlessly, mouth and ass stuffed full. It was glorious, and it didn’t last particularly long this very first time.

Because then Chris was gasping loudly, motion stuttering as his knot began to inflate. Peter might have teased him, except his own knot was pulsing just beneath the skin, and he had no doubt he’d be popping already too if he were in Chris’ position.

Stiles whined beautifully, his entire body jerking as Chris worked the knot in. His very first knot. Fuck. Stiles was taking his very first, _first ever_ , alpha knot. Lo and behold, Chris had barely settled into a lazy, short rolling motion when Peter smelled the heady tang of something just a little salty and sweet.

“He’s close.” Peter groaned as Stiles slurped another inch down his cock.

Chris’ sweat was still beaded on his skin, his thick chest heaving and glistening in the porch light from fucking into their boy. Still, the roll of his hips never faltered as he nodded and reached around to palm Stiles’ cock.

The omega went tense, every single muscle in him spasming as he came for them. His scream was muffled by Peter’s cock, and god, but that felt so unbelievably wonderful.

“Fuck!” Peter hissed, yanking Stiles off him.

He could feel the tightness at the base of his cock. He knew what it meant.

“I need to knot him.” Peter growled when he caught Chris’ eye.

Chris gave a jerky nod as he leaned down to kiss between Stiles’ shoulder blades, hands tight and bruising on pale hips. He rested his forehead there, panting as he continued coming inside their boy.

Peter lightly stroked himself, keeping on edge while he waited his turn. Stiles watched, licking his lips, as his brain slowly came back on line.

Well. Almost.

“Ugh,” Stile groaned, his eyes rolling up again as his head bobbed weakly.

“Dammit,” Chris hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, not so sure he should be worried about anything that would put that blissed-out look on their omega’s face.

“Nothing,” Chris gritted out through his teeth. “He’s… fuck. It’s… like he’d milking me. Urgh!”

Peter’s cock wept in sympathy.

Outside of Heat, a knot shouldn’t last longer than five, maybe ten minutes. Maybe it might last longer if the omega forced the matter by stimulating it with the right kind of rhythm. The chances of Stile lucking onto the rhythm the first time around were incredibly unlikely though.

“Hurry up,” he demanded, estimating they were around that five minute mark, “I want to knot too,”

“Trying,”

“Stiles. Hey, sweetheart,”

Peter lifted the boy’s chin and tapped on his cheek to get his attention. The poor boy still looked a little out of it, but he met Peter’s eyes unflinchingly, with a lovely little smile.

Peter was powerless to do anything other than smile back. “That’s my omega. Why don’t you ease up on Chris, okay?”

Awareness was slowly returning to the omega’s face. His brow wrinkled cutely as he asked: “… Chris?”

“Here,” Chris grunted, nuzzling into his back.

“You have to relax, sweetheart.” Peter whispered hotly, kissing his lips. “Let Chris’ knot go down, and I’ll get you another one, okay?”

Stiles’ body shook as Chris tugged at the knot in question.

“Oh!” Stiles moaned, dropping the weight of his head into Peter’s palm. “Feels so good!”

Chris gave a choked laugh at that. For his part, Peter bit back his own amusement. It was easy to do, in light of the aching knot in his dick.

“I know, darling. I know. Mine will just as good, I’m sure.”

Chris, the asshole, lifted his head just enough to stick his togue out at him.

Peter swatted his shoulder without looking away from Stiles. “Come on, sweetheart. You took care of one of your alphas already. Now it’s my turn.”

To emphasize his point, Peter leaned back so Stiles could get a good look at his throbbing erection. Stiles’ semi-cognizant eyes went wide, his cheeks blushing, and Peter reached down further to lift his balls and make sure the boy got a good look at how big and full they were.

Stiles lurched forward, mouth open.

“No,” Peter cried, fending him off, amazed and dismayed as Chris laughed at them.

Stiles whined in disappointment.

“You’re alright, love,” Chris said fondly as his laughter died down. Then he told Peter, “I’m down enough, I can probably pull it now,”

Peter glared at him, “Then what are you waiting for, Christopher.”

Chris grinned, “For you to ask nicely.”

“Please!?” Stiles chirped readily, and something about his inflection and immediate response clued Peter in to the fact that Stiles was back in his right mind.

Chris noticed too. He smacked Stiles’ ass hard enough to make the boy jump and shriek, muttering a fond: “Cheeky brat,”

Stiles gasped in genuine shock then as Chris’ fading knot was yanked out of him. He smelled like mild hurt too. Not of pain, of course, but a soft emotional sting. 

“I’ve got you,” Peter assured, plucking the boy off the grass.

Stiles clambered onto his lap, nearly kneeing Peter in the goods in his haste. “Sorry!” he squeaked, wincing as he landed so he straddled the werewolf.

“It’s fine, we can work on gracefulness later,” Peter said, manhandled that pert bottom into the right angle.

Stiles was dripping wet. A combination of slick and Chris’ cum was streaming from him and if that wasn’t the sexiest thing Peter had ever experienced, he didn’t know what was.

“Oh my god!” Stiles cried as Peter slid into him. “Fuck. Okay. This good. Yeah.”

Chris watched them from where he’d collapsed on the lawn. “If you’ve got the energy to talk,” he said with amusement, “you’ve got the energy to ride. Move it.”

Oh, but he was mated to a genius, wasn’t he.

~!~

Stiles was wired. Like, to the max. Like a freaking succubus, he’d come out of the omega high with more liveliness and gusto than he’d gone into it with. He felt like he’d been days without his Adderall, and any minute now he’d be bouncing of the freaking walls.

Except there were no walls. Because he’d lost his virginity in the yard, like a real classy omega.

And he wasn’t done yet. He felt a little sore, but the seconds between Chris’ withdrawal and Peter filling him had been enlightening. He’d had a stark come-to-Jesus moment where he knew, beyond shadow of a doubt, that the ache down there was a billion times more bearable when he was being stretched open.

“You heard your alpha.” Peter said snidely, rubbing Stiles’ thighs as he sat back.

Stiles stared around. “Huh? What?”

Peter pecked his cheek and reminded him: “Put that energy to use. Ride me.”

“It won’t take long,” Chris promised.

Stiles glanced over his shoulder to see Chris spread out of the grass, watching them. Holy naked alpha, Batman. And wait a minute… that was… damn, but Chris’ lower half was sticky and drenched with his slick, wasn’t he. Stiles felt his dick jump and his hole clench at the thought.

“Mmm,” Peter moaned, burying his face in Stiles’ throat.

Oh, yeah. That was nice. Very, very nice.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Peter whispered, mouth wet against his clavicle.

“Show him what you’ve got,” Chris encouraged, reaching out to pinch Stiles’ ass.

Stiles jumped, yelping, and the next thing he knew, he was bouncing up and down as if Peter’s hips were his own personal springboard.

And when he got his second knot of the hour—and in life—Stiles figured it was his due. It was remarkably easy to forget his woes when he was so full he couldn’t think straight.


	8. Eight

Peter woke with the dawn, as per usual. He did not, however, roll right out of bed as usual. No, no. He lounged for a bit. A while, actually, and he refused to feel bad about the sloth.

It was his first morning waking up with a beautiful, naked omega in his bed, snuggly bundled between himself and Chris. Exactly as they always dreamed. Allowances had to be made.

“Mmm,” Stiles moaned softly, squirming into the little pillow he’d refused to sleep without.

Peter kissed the small furrow between the boy’s brows with a smile. He stayed close for a moment, just breathing him in. Despite an evening shower and hours of sleep, Stiles still smelled of sweet omega and Peter and Chris; it was a lovely, mild scent marking that even alpha humans would pick up on, though in a more subconscious level. To Peter’s wolf nose though, Stiles smelled vividly of virile alpha spunk, and the scent of _them_ on/in the boy was absolutely heady.

His morning wood leapt to attention, dabbing Stiles’ slim belly with precum.

“Shhh,” Peter whispered when Stiles gave a sleepy whine and started to roll away.

The omega settled back against him with the slightest coxing. It was perfect. _He_ was perfect. Even asleep, their boy was so wonderfully submissive.

Chris made a low, semi-awake sound of interest. He snuggled tight against Stiles’ back, his arm fully entrapping the boy’s waist as his hips pushed forward.

Peter leaned over to kiss Chris’ cheek, right by his ear. He whispered, “Morning, lover.”

Chris’ bright blue eyes flickered open, lazy and slow, just like the motion of his hips. “Hey,”

Peter ran his fingers from Chris’ shoulder, down his arm, and onto Stiles’ chest to trace the outline of Chris’ hand where it rested there. Stiles twitched, a grumpy, confused little frown on his face. 

Together, they petted the omega calm and lulled him back into the deepest, most restful sleep.

“Go back to sleep,” Peter whispered to Chris, “I’m going for a run. I’ll wake you both after I’ve showered.”

Chris hummed his agreement, already closing his eyes and burying his face in the omega’s hair.

It ached something fierce to part from them and slip out of bed. Still, Peter knew he couldn’t fall back to sleep; if he stayed, he’d end up intruding on their well-deserved rest. Besides, Stiles was no excuse for letting himself go, and his wolf needed the daily runs as a matter of sanity as much as fitness.

So Peter left them in bed. He ran. He might have cut it a little short, though, and he was back at the house in less than forty-five minutes.

He toed his trainers off at the door, and was half-way through a bottle of water from the fridge when he picked up on the sound of a racing heart-beat. Peter abandoned the bottle and headed for the stairs, frowning as the jack-rabbit quick rhythm got louder. Faster.

What he did not hear were moans or Chris’ amorous murmurs. He didn’t smell slick or anything remotely sexual in the house.

He hit the landing of the upstairs hall and could pick up on Stiles’ harsh, gasping breaths. And the scent of fear.

“What the hell—?”

Peter rushed into the room, the door bursting open like a gunshot in the hushed morning air. From there, everything happened too fast and all at once

Stiles screamed.

Chris jerked upright, from dead asleep to fully alert. Instinctively, he rolled to get himself between the omega and the door, pinning Stiles to the bed in the process.

And poor Stiles freaked out. He yelled again and scratched at Chris’ wrist, flailing viciously to get away.

Cursing, Chris let go.

Stiles tumbled off the far side of the bed, landing with a resounding thud. He scrambled backward, hyperventilating, till he’d trapped himself in the corner between Chris’ nightstand and the wall.

Peter made it over just in time to catch the lamp before crashed on top of the boy’s head.

Everything slowed down. The din of commotion quieted, and suddenly all they could hear was the sound of their boy sniffling and struggling to draw in rasping, panicked breaths. 

“What happened?” Peter glanced at Chris as he knelt down in front of Stiles.

“I have no idea…” Chris was still naked and startled, but the protective instinct that had woken him so abruptly was already fading. He climbed out of bed, quick as a wolf, confusion and concern dominating his expression.

“Stiles?” Peter said in as calm a voice he could manage. “Sweetheart, look at me. Come on, darling.”

He cautiously placed a hand on Stiles’ knee and the boy jerked, but at least he looked up and seemed to finally notice Peter.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Deep breathes.” Peter held his eyes and exaggerated his own breathing. “Come on, sweetheart. Breathe with me.”

He tried. Oh, their boy tried so hard. Long, painful moments, just seconds really, stretched on as Stiles tried to follow his rhythm. When he couldn’t do it that soon, the waterworks started.

“It’s okay,” Peter said, aiming for calm.

He knew immediately he shouldn’t have said it, should have ignored the tears. He should have just kept up the loud, leading breaths.

Stiles’ face crumbled, and a second later, he dropped his head into his hands and broke into wracking sobs.

“Okay, okay,” Peter went with his instinct and dragged the boy from the corner. Stiles flailed and cried, but was no match for an alpha werewolf. Peter pulled him into his arms and held fast, whispering to him all the while. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Chris slid to his knees beside them and tugged the bed’s blanket around them like a cocoon. Peter felt Chris’ long arms squeeze them soundly, and he prayed Stiles found it comforting.

Stiles quaked and sobbed into his sweaty t-shirt for what felt like forever. According to the clock, it couldn’t have been longer than fifteen minutes before he started to run out of steam. The devastating cries died to stuttering gasps and sniffles.

Barely recovered, Stiles mumbled out a broken: “I—I’m s-sorry!”

Peter nuzzled into the messy brown locks and hushed him reassuringly.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Chris promised him, rubbing his back beneath the blanket. “Take your time, get it all out. We’re just going to hold you till it passes.”

And they did.

Eventually, what was clearly a massive panic attack mellowed as Stiles calmed and exhaustion won out. He went limp in Peter’s lap, breathing loudly through his mouth as the air flowed easier. They stayed like that, huddled on the floor, for another few minutes.

Chris kissed Stiles’ shoulder and sat back on his heels to give them some space.

Peter nodded and placed his own kiss on Stiles’ forehead.

“I forgot…” Stiles whispered, embarrassed. “I’ve never slept in bed with someone else, and I forgot where I was…”

“It’s alright.” Chris reassured, combing fingers through the boy’s hair gently.

“You’ve been through a lot lately,” Peter said, “It’s going to take some time.”

Stiles just sniffled and burrowed further into Peter’s chest. His body heaved as he took big gulps of air laced with Peter’s scent. Peter had the errant thought that at least he hadn’t been in the shower when Stiles woke, the poor boy was soaking up the pheromones, and really it could only be helping.

Sure enough, Stiles began calming down much quicker, and Peter shrugged off the blanket so he could scoop the boy into his arms and lift him, bridal-style.

“Well, I at least need a shower.” Peter said softly, carrying Stiles to their master bathroom. “How about you join me, hm?”

Stiles didn’t cling, so much as he simply lacked the energy to do anything beside rest against him. Peter sat on the toilet, cradling the omega while Chris started the water.

“I should get some food ready for us,” Chris considered aloud as he tested the water’s temperature.

“I’m not hungry,” Stiles mumbled.

“You need to eat something, sweetheart,” Peter told him. “It’ll help,”

“After some food, we can go get your phone,” Chris added, “I’m sure your dad would love to hear from you. It might do you some good too,”

Stiles gave a soft, watery smile. “Yeah.”

Chris cuddled Stiles while Peter stripped, then he left to make breakfast once he’d seen them safely settled on the floor of the shower. Peter kept the omega in his lap since Stiles didn’t seem up to holding his own weight just yet. They had multiple showerheads, so Peter used the detachable one to gently hose them both down.

“I wanna go home,” Stiles murmured into the hollow of his throat.

As expected as the comment was, it still hit like blow to the chest. Peter gave him a squeeze and kissed his head. “You are home, Stiles. It’s okay to miss your dad and your friends, but that’s no longer the best place for you. This is. Here. With us.”

Stiles didn’t reply to that.

Peter grabbed a loofa and shower gel from the bath ledge. He let Stiles mull over his words as he scrubbed them both clean. He had to shift the omega to the corner of the stall so he could properly clean and rinse himself, but he made quick work of it so he could get the boy back in his arms.

He couldn’t shake the instinct that he had to hold on right now. As if Stiles would slip further and further away if he didn’t keep him solidly anchored to him.

~!~

Peter wasn’t the only one feeling concerned. Dried off and dressed, the moment they came downstairs Chris had swept Stiles up. He set the omega on his lap at the table and cuddled him as they ate.

Well. Peter and Stiles ate. Chris had scarfed down his own waffle and an apple while he filled plates for his lovers. He was lazily sipping a breakfast smoothie while he fed Stiles choice bites of fruit and waffle with his fingers.

The omega ate reluctantly, stiff and mentally miles away.

“Do you know what phone you want?” Chris prompted, thumbing away a bit of butter from the boy’s plump lip.

Stiles shrugged. “Dad let me have his old razor phone before it died. I haven’t had one since.”

Peter grinned and tapped the boy’s knee, aiming for playful. “I think we can do better than a relic of the pre-smart phone era.”

“Sure,”

Chris sighed and dropped the strawberry in his hand back on the plate. He rubbed his fingers through Stiles’ hair and urged him closer, gentle but insistent, so the omega’s face was tucked into the hollow of his throat.

In theory, the intimacy and influx of alpha pheromones aught to help settle Stiles’ mood. It would only be powerfully effective after they’d seen him through a Heat and the omega’s body was chemically wired to recognize them as mates.

For now, Chris hoped this was enough.

They were barely a day in. Yesterday had gone so well, and they’d gone to bed happy and confident Stiles’ integration into the household would be as easy and seamless as the sex and casual conversation. Apparently, both he and Peter were more naïve than they’d given themselves credit for.

It was just a bump in the road, though. Omegas needed consistency and strength to rely on, and Stiles was no different in that regard. Chris and Peter hadn’t met a challenge they couldn’t meet yet; that track record wasn’t about to fail them now.

The internal pep talk must have been working some magic on his scent. He felt Stiles begin to relax, just a bit, at the same time Peter shot him an appreciative look that, on another man, Chris might have even called sentimental.

“Think you can eat a little more for me?” Chris asked gently, petting Stiles from ear to shoulder.

“I guess so,”

He felt Stiles sigh and nuzzle into him, the ski-slope of his cute nose digging into his neck. The omega took a deeper breath, and it wasn’t entirely clear if he realized he was seeking out more of Chris’ comforting scent. Either way, Chris chose to look at it as a good sign.

Without dislodging the omega, Chris brought the strawberry slice to his mouth. “Open for me,”

Stiles did, though with a wistful little sigh that was disappointing to the doting alpha.

~!~

Stiles’ mood was all over the place the rest of the day, but there was very little upward momentum to it.

At best, he was homesick.

Which led to feeling viciously guilty, because he knew full well that his dad’s place in Beacon Hills wasn’t his anymore, and by all rights he had a wonderful home and a pair of alphas hanging on his every word like he was some sort of precious prince or something. Peter’s and Chris’ unflappable conviction that it was normal and healthy to miss the trappings of his childhood did nothing to assuage the guilt.

And that made him angry. Gut-churning, weepy, fruitless kind of angry. He knew by now that his alphas didn’t mind, and even seemed to enjoy his sarcasm, but the snippy comments and occasional hissy fits were passing the point of disrespectful. Between the Apple store, furniture shopping for his Heat room, and a brief stop at the supermarket, Stiles had been an absolute brat, the kind of omega he would have gaped at and expected to see taken to task in a moment’s notice by an embarrassed alpha.

For the life of him, Stiles could not figure out why neither Chris or Peter had punished him yet.

Which brought him right back to guilt. Heaps of it.

Closely followed by sadness. Mostly, it was disappointment in himself, but there was a lot more tied up in it than he was willing to acknowledge at present. He was sad, and making himself sadder the longer he dwelled on the current situation.

Inevitably, he’d remember waking up, stifled and trapped in unfamiliar arms, and that sadness would cycle back to debilitating homesickness.

And on and on it went. A perfectly not-nice circle of smoldering misery.

It made the day drag on. They made it home by two in the afternoon, after Chris cut the grocery run short, no doubt due to Stiles’ apathetic and rude behavior. It felt like it’d been a week.

“Go upstairs.” Peter said after they had unloaded the car.

Stiles stared around at the full shopping bags crowding the kitchen with a sinking feeling in his gut. “What about all this..?”

“We got it,” Peter said shortly, pulling a bag’s handle right out of Stiles’ fingers.

This was it. They’d lost patience with him. He was going to get beat to a pulp, and who could blame them after the way he’d acted all damn day.

“Go on,” Chris nodded toward the stairs. “Take a nap. You can lay down in our room, since your bed won’t be delivered till later this afternoon,”

Stiles winced as he remembered the exorbitant rush fee Peter had paid to get Stiles a brand-new bedframe and mattress with same-day delivery and assembly. The mattress alone had been a small fortune, specially designed for omega comfort and Heat-sustainable hygiene in mind.

And then Stiles’ mind moved past the price tags and he realized what Chris had just said. His sinking stomach heaved.

“… I’m… So…. am I not sleeping with you guys anymore?”

But of course, the words didn’t come out filled with his disappointment and fear. They came out irritated, even pissed off. And half a second later, Stiles _was_ pissed off.

“Just until you’ve had a chance to acclimate a little, sweetheart,” Peter answered as he riffled through the bags.

This was how they chose to punish him, Stiles realized with dismay. Evict him from their bed, shunned to the _fucking Heat Room_ , like a naughty dog who’d tracked mud on sheets.

“None of us want a repeat of this morning.” Chris continued in that infuriatingly calm voice of his. “Maybe I was holding you too tight when you woke up and it exacerbated the panic attack. We’ll work on getting you used to us holding you before we try sleeping like that again,”

It was a lamest excuse he’d ever heard. Stiles wasn’t an idiot. 

“Whatever,” he scoffed, spinning fast to stomp up the stairs.

“Stiles!?” Peter called after him.

Stiles ignored him.

He did as he was told, like a good little omega, and scampered off to their bed. He didn’t slam the door shut, per se, but he didn’t care if it closed heavily behind him either as he dove face-first into the bed. Immediately, he was swamped by the ingrained fragrance of alpha musk and sex.

Just like that, the anger waned and gave room to mourning.

He knew he’d fuck it up.

No matter what he’d told Chris last night, he’d never really thought about life with any alpha besides his father. Not _really_ really. Ever since his mom died when he was young, it’d been just the two of them against the world. Even after he presented late, at age thirteen, he’d never fully and truly entertained the idea of ever being closer to another person than he was to his dad and his best friend, Scott. It just wasn’t something he’d seriously thought about. It was something he avoided.

But this was reality, and he was lucky—beyond lucky—that Chris and Peter had been the ones to adopt him. He could have ended up so much worse off. He had been so underprepared for choosing an alpha, for mating.

He still was. And now he was fucking up a best-case scenario and he had no idea how to course correct.

He wanted to go downstairs and help unpack the bags. He wanted to laugh and be helpful, to just show them he was worth them taking a chance on. He wanted to say and do the right thing, anything, to convince them to let him stay in their bed tonight.

Stiles wanted all of that, desperately. And Stiles wanted to _rage_.

He wanted to defy them, to go down there and scream at them that he wasn’t a fucking child who needed to be sent to bed early. He wanted to slap the calm right off Chris’ handsome face and do something drastic till Peter stopped called him sweetheart, stopped finding him _sweet_ at all. 

His mind and instincts pulled him in polar opposite directions, and it left him stalled out in that enormous, comfy bed.

Eventually, he cycled back to homesickness.

Feeling numb, Stiles reached for his shiny new iPhone. There were a grand total of four contacts: Chris Argent, Peter Hale, Natalie Martin, and Noah Stilinski. At the sight of the list, Stiles felt his chest tighten. He selected a name and the pressure spread throughout his sternum. He hit the call button and the sensation somehow turned into a stinging at the corners of his eyes.

Stiles rolled onto his back, phone to his ear as it rang.

“Hello?”

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. The first tear fell.

“… Stiles? Stiles, is that you?”

The hope and concern in his dad’s voice was a fresh blow to the dam holding the chaos inside him. He’d tried calling earlier, right in the middle of the Apple store, but Noah hadn’t answered. But now… now he had him on the phone, and Stiles didn’t know what to say.

“Dad?” he croaked through another spilt tear.

“Oh, Stiles,” Noah said softly, consolingly. “What’s happened?”

Stiles took a shaky breath and whined, “I just miss you. I want to come home.”

Noah sighed, a sound so tired and resigned and familiar that it made Stiles’ heart hurt.

“I just want to come home.” He whispered, “Just for a little while. Please?”

“Stiles… Son. Where are your alphas?”

“… You know about them?”

“Natalie sent me an email right after she signed your adoption papers. They seem like good guys, kiddo.”

“... Yeah. I think so…”

“Talk to me, son. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said defensively. “I just wanted to talk to you—”

“Then why are you crying?” At this point, Noah’s voice turned hard, less Dad and more Sheriff, “Stiles, are you hiding from your alphas? If something’s wrong, you can tell me. You’re not Heat-bonded yet, we can still get you back to The Halfway—”

“It’s not like that,” Stiles interrupted tiredly.

And it wasn’t. As comforting as it was to know Noah and Natalie were primed to help him, no one in their right mind would consider Chris and Peter unfit mates. Neither would Stiles, even in his decidedly not-right minded moments.

He might think they could do better than him right about now, but he wasn’t about give it up and go back to the freaking Halfway House. Even being kicked out to the Heat room was better than that.

Maybe not better than going home though. Being with his dad. Seeing Scott on the weekends.

“I just want come home.” He repeated, “I’m not ready for this. I just need a little more time…”

“You’re ready, Stiles. I promise, you are.”

“I’m not, though!”

“Stiles, I think it’s time you let me speak with Peter or Chris.”

“Dad, no—”

“I love you, kiddo. If coming home was what’s best for you, I’d come get you myself, but Stiles… Stiles, you need things from an alpha that I can’t give you. You’ve needed it for a while now, and we’ve barely been scrapping by with pharmaceuticals and cheap tricks.”

Stiles knew he was right. Objectively, he knew that.

But it didn’t change the fact that while Chris and Peter seemed great, Stiles had no idea what life with them would really be like. He didn’t have any clear expectations beyond letting them fuck him and eventually giving them a kid or two. He didn’t know. He was used to knowing exactly where he stood, and in that moment not knowing was terrifying.

He was desperate for the familiarity of his childhood. It was so much simpler than this messy uncertainty everyone kept calling an adjustment period.

He wasn’t ready for it. Maybe it was his fault for pretending for so long that it wasn’t an inevitability, maybe it was Noah’s fault for letting him. It made no difference.

“Stiles, I can hear you freaking out. You need to get out of your head for a bit.”

In junior high, Noah’s solution for Stiles’ rampant anxiety had been manual labor: he’d give Stiles a bucket of supplies and leave him in a room till he’d distracted himself and/or been worn out by scrubbing the room clean, top to bottom. It had been effective.

Chris and Peter kept a pristine household. They probably had a freaking maid service.

Oh, look: he was back to the soul-crushing guilt already. Why couldn’t he just appreciate the good deal he had going here. Why couldn’t he be the perfect omega Chris and Peter had signed up for.

“Stiles!” Noah snapped.

It was so familiar and so easy to respond to that barking tone. Stiles sniffled into the phone. “…Yeah?”

“Give the phone to your alpha. One of them. I don’t care which.”

This time, the guilt wasn’t quite done with him when he felt the next bubble of anger burst. Noah wasn’t his alpha, not anymore; Stiles didn’t have to listen to him. A part of him wanted to, desperately, and that felt like such a failing as Chris’ and Peter’s omega that the guilt got confused with fright.

“Now, Stiles.”

And Stiles breathed: “No,” and hung up.


	9. Nine

“Don’t.”

“I’ll just—”

“Peter. Don’t. Just give him space.”

Peter sighed, loud and aggrieved in case Chris was practicing his selective hearing again, and turned his full attention on the groceries. It was difficult to consciously avoid listening out for the grief-heavy heartbeat and sniffling sobs upstairs, but when the faint electronic hum of a connecting call sounded he did the right thing a gave Stiles his privacy.

Chris was right. They didn’t want to set any dangerous precedents, like spying on the omega’s phone calls and never giving him a moment’s space to figure himself out.

So Peter beat back his alpha impulses to run upstairs and smother the boy in attention. It was difficult, but he did it. For Stiles, he did it.

“Don’t get pissy,” Chris warned in that way Peter had always said was just a little too self-righteous to be effective. “He’s had a rough day, and he clearly hasn’t appreciated us hounding his every move. Stop taking it personally,”

“I’m not,” Peter countered. “I just want to _fix it_ ,”

“It doesn’t need fixing,” Chris grumbled, his own dissatisfaction giving rise to temper. “These things take time. He’ll adjust.”

“Yes,” Peter nodded, throwing the box of granola in the cupboard with enough force to make to nearly topple over, “And in the meantime, we’ll just watch from the sidelines, stewing in our ineffectiveness.”

“It’s not about us,”

“Isn’t it? His moods have effects on the rest of us just like any member in a pack—”

“He’s not a wolf—”

“A family, then.” Peter threw a tapioca cup at his mate’s head in irritation.

The human alpha caught it smoothly, then sat down to open it with an expectant lift of a brow.

“My point is,” Peter said through gritted teeth, “We’re not doing him any favors by leaving him to deal by himself. We’re a unit. Family, pack, what have you. We’ll only make it harder for him if we ignore our own needs, and the next thing you know, we’ll be stuck in a toxic feedback loop of our own making.”

Chris took the time to lick the little plastic spoon clean of pudding before answering. There was none of the temper he’d spoken with before, just soft understanding and reassurance.

“We’re not like Talia,” he said, “And that won’t happen to us.”

It was so easy, too easy sometimes, to just blindly trust in Chris’ steadfast confidence. But the stakes seemed so much higher now that it wasn’t just the two of them. Because Stile…. Stiles was dependent on them in ways they could never be to each other. He was their omega.

And he needed them to step up. They just hadn’t figured out the right way yet.

Peter searched around for a way to articulate this instinct, which was so pure and simple to his wolf mind, in a way Chris would understand. He was still searching when Chris’ phone rang.

Chris took one look at the screen and stiffened. “It’s Stiles’ caretaker.”

His back stiffened, and immediately Peter’s mind went to the phone call he’d refused to listen to upstairs. Had that been a mistake—

“Argent,” Chris said gruffly into the phone.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Argent, This is Natalie—”

“How can I help you, Ms. Martin?”

“I just wanted to call and check in with you,”

At the warmth in her voice, Peter felt a modicum of his defensive alarm lessen.

“I just got off the phone with Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles’ father. Are you aware they’ve been in contact?”

“Is that a problem?” Chris asked, frowning deeply as he crossed an arm and tucked the hand into his elbow. He met Peter’s gaze and held it.

“Not at all,” Martin reassured, but Peter was close by and listening, he heard the slight blip in her heartbeat. “There are no laws or official guidelines against it, of course. But…. Well. The Sheriff called to tell me he thinks it might have done more harm than good. He asked if I’d check in with you, or give him your number so he could check himself. Is Stiles with you right now?”

“He’s upstairs,” Chris answered.

Peter mouthed “I told you so,” and headed toward the stairs and the sound of Stiles’ racing heart.

“Peter can hear him in our bedroom.” Chris said, hot on his heels, “I’ll give you a ring in a bit.”

“Alright—”

The call disconnected just as Peter opened the bedroom door. Stiles lay curled up on his side, his back to the door. His phone was on Peter’s nightstand, shut off. There was no sound of crying, though there lingered a salty tang in the air, and the stillness of his body was at complete odds with the tempo hammering inside his chest.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Peter sat on the edge of the bed gingerly, then reached out a hand to touch Stiles’ leg just as carefully.

Stiles hunched his shoulders, took a deep, bracing breath, and otherwise didn’t react.

Pocketing his phone, Chris rounded the bed and crouched down by Stiles’ face. He gave a soft smile and reached out to brush the moisture from beneath Stiles’ eye.

Over the boy’s shoulder, he saw Stiles clamp his eyes shut and keep them that way.

Chris’ smile faltered. “No hiding from us, Stiles. Look at me.”

“I’d rather not,” Stiles grumbled, turning his face into the pillow. “I’m supposed to be napping.”

Peter pulled on the boy’s shoulder, forcing him onto his back. “Change of plans. Open your eyes. We need to talk.”

Stiles obeyed with a few quick blinks that dislodged a little too much moisture than he found acceptable. He yanked a sleeve over his eyes with enough force to warrant Chris catching his wrists and holding them still.

“Want to tell us why you’re so upset?” Chris asked, pinning Stiles’ hands to the boy’s chest.

“Not particularly,” he answered, tugging to get free.

Chris’ grip was firm and his alpha strength superior. He held fast and after a second Stiles gave up with a huff. Those amber eyes glared at the ceiling, freshly wet as his jaw set in aggravated pout.

“Stiles, work with us here,”

“We can’t help if we don’t know what’s wrong.” Peter added.

“Everything!” Stiles snarled, wrenching at Chris’ hold again, “Everything’s wrong. I don’t want to sleep in the Heat room, and I don’t want to feel like a disappointment!” His next words were punctuated by repeated, hard yanks to dislodge Chris’ grip. “I. Want. To. Go. Home!”

“Okay. That’s enough,” Chris said stoically, puling Stiles across the bed to him.

“Let me go!”

“Stop it.” Chris trapped the boy in his lap, subduing him with arms tight over Stiles’ chest to pin him down, one leg stopping the omega from kicking. In a flash, the boy was fully enclosed. “You’re going to make yourself sick,”

Peter thought Chris wasn’t that far off, honestly. The omega was shaking, face and neck flushed with mounting emotion, and his entire torso heaved with heavy breaths. He was working himself into a volatile state, not entirely unlike a toddler throwing a tantrum.

But Stiles wasn’t a toddler, thank God. He came with a built-in calming switch.

“Breathe, omega.” Peter said as he helped direct Stiles’ nose toward Chris’ throat and the most immediately available scent gland.

Stiles fought him, hissing angrily until Peter clapped one strong, demanding hand on his nape and the other on his jaw. He forced the boy’s mouth closed while he waited for Stiles to breath in Chris’ scent through his nose a few times.

Alright. So maybe it was more than a few inhales. It took a little while for Stiles to succumb to the soothing effects of organic alpha pheromones, but it happened. It worked like a charm, really. Slowly, Stiles relaxed. He stopped fighting to get free, instead going stiff and still, then gradually began melting into their hands.

Once he felt Stiles trying to nuzzle closer, Peter released his grip on Stiles’ jaw. He shifted his wrist up so Stiles could have the additional benefit of his own scent as close and concentrated as possible.

The omega licked at his wrist like a new kitten. Tentative. Hopeful. Needy.

“There you go,” Peter murmured, “Good boy. Better?”

Stiles peeked up at him through wet eyelashes, his cheeks a pleasing pink. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Chris assured him with a kiss to his temple. “Just communicate with us. When you start to feel overwhelmed, tell us.”

They fell into a tense, sober silence then, the omega cradled between his alphas. Stiles kept his nose pressed to the hollow of Chris’ throat, and after a while upgraded from licking Peter’s wrist to weakly mouthing at his wrist bone.

Peter let it go on for a little while before his foot started going numb from poor positioning. He shifted away, and Stiles whined.

“Please?” Stiles asked tearfully. “Just a little longer? I just… I don’t miss home so much when we’re like this.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Peter promised, “Just getting more comfortable.”

He settled his back against the headboard, his legs stretched out comfortable. He gave Chris a small smile and a nod, patting his chest in invitation.

Chris let him go, and Stiles just about threw himself at Peter, sliding on the sheets till his face was buried in Peter’s chest, arms around the alpha’s waist.

“Easy, love,” Chris chuckled, sliding in along Stiles’ back, “He’s not going anywhere. Neither of us are, not till we know you’ve gotten enough,”

Stiles sighed into Peter’s shirt, and it was only a little shaky. “Never. I don’t think I’ll ever have enough.”

Peter could hear it in his voice and heartbeat, in that moment, Stiles really believed that. He wreaked of persistent doubts and lingering fears. Their poor boy.

Chris tapped his shoulder, and he looked up to see the human alpha’s considering glance down at their omega. Chris whispered so softly only Peter’s wolf ears would hear: “We could give him more…?”

Peter frowned, not sure what that was supposed to mean. They were already settling in for a long cuddle. Clearly.

Chris rolled his eyes and sighed, digging out his phone. He typed something, then turned the device so Peter could read: _More scent= calmer omega= happier omega._

Peter gave him his best “no shit, sherlock” stare.

Chris’s eyes widened meaningfully as he pointed down south and mouthed: “more scent!”

Peter blinked. Huh. Well then. Chris wasn’t technically wrong.

Stiles couldn’t have heard Chris’ initial murmur, and he was certainly too lost in his internal turmoil to notice the silent conversation going on overhead. Perhaps there was something in the air, or maybe an omega so near his Heat could pick up on the subtle increase in alpha pheromones in their scents. Regardless, Stiles snuggled into Peter with a subconscious wriggle that brought him several inches lower on the alpha’s body.

Chris arched a brow at him. _Well_?

“Hey, sweetheart?” Peter asked, hesitantly. He didn’t exactly want to disturb Stiles right as he was beginning to settle down, but if it might help…

Stiles whined something intelligible into his abs.

Peter petted his hair and jostled his shoulder lightly. “Alright if we get a little more comfortable? I don’t typically wear jeans in bed.”

Stiles huffed. His arms squeezed around Peter’s waist.

Chris rolled off the bed and shucked his pants. He dropped down next to Peter, cool and unconcerned as could be in his boxer briefs, then he reached down and got a nice, firm grip on the sweet spot at Stiles’ nape.

“Come here, omega.”

Stiles tensed, a token resistance really, then he followed Chris’ urging to reposition. The moment the boy’s arms released him, Chris shot Peter a smug look and likewise release his own hold. Without further prompting, the omega rolled over and resumed a similar position with Chris.

Except this time, Stiles had effortlessly placed himself between his alpha’s legs. He arms hugged lower around Chris’ waist, his nose already searching out the alpha’s dark blond happy trail.

“Well, okay then.” Peter snarked, impressed.

In the time it took him to toss his jeans across the room, Stiles had taken the bait. He slinked down the bed, squirming lower till he was all but digging his nose into Chris’ underwear.

“Perfect, sweetheart.” Peter praised, scratching through Stiles’ hair as he leaned against Chris’ side.

Peter was familiar enough to recognize Chris’ half-hard cock jostling beneath the briefs. Peter kissed Chris’ jaw and whispered so as not to distract the omega: “Just let him play. Don’t lead him.”

Chris hummed his agreement, his eyes on the boy.

His mate truly was a genius at times, Peter thought fondly as he watched Stiles do as his instincts demanded. Chris had been absolutely right: while it had taken the better part of half an hour to calm him down earlier, Stiles had relaxed into a contented omega puddle within two minutes of drowning himself in Chris’ clothed groin.

When the hinting aroma of sex and alpha precum got thick enough for Peter’s nose to notice, Stiles began purring. Both alphas were a bit more than half-hard by that point, and Stiles smelled sugary-sweet and pleased.

“Alright, love.” Chris said gruffly, nudging Stiles’ face away. “I need a minute. Go to Peter, baby. Go on.”

“That’s our boy,” Peter whispered warmly as Stiles came over to him with little urging.

The omega was deeply flushed, his eyes quite dazed. None of the sadness and anger from the first part of the day plagued him now, and the loose lines of his body spoke of relief. He gave a confused little pout as Chris rolled off the bed, but it disappeared quickly as he crawled between Peter’s legs and noticed the wealth of omega-pleasing scent there.

Peter gasped as Stiles rubbed his face over his crotch with more pressure than anticipated.

“Mmm,” the omega moaned appreciatively.

“Fuck…” Peter breathed softly, leaning his head back against the bedframe as his cock filled out fully.

By the time Chris got back, Stiles had begun licking his balls through his underwear.

“How’s our omega doing?” Chris grinned, leaning against the doorframe and palming his own sizable erection.

“Just fine, I imagine,” Peter guessed with a tight, strained smile of his own.

Stiles either wasn’t paying attention or didn’t care to respond. He just kept licking, little swipes of his tongue playing with Peter in infuriatingly short, unhurried passes.

“I told Ms. Martin to forward our numbers to the Sheriff.” Chris said, setting his phone down absently on Peter’s nightstand. “And what do you know: she suggested Stiles might respond well to a more intimate scenting session.”

“Imagine that,” Peter responded halfheartedly.

He was more concerned with watching Stiles as the boy began gently tugging at the front of his pants with his teeth.

Chris chuckled and ran a hand through Stiles’ hair. “Want a little more, baby?”

“He’s not wet,” Peter warned.

He’d been sniffing around for the past five minutes waiting for the slightest hint of flowing slick. So far, there’d been none. Stiles’ wasn’t aroused, not yet anyway, but his chem-signals were as far from distressed and agitated as it was possible to get. Peter would take it as a win, even if it left him with the bluest balls imaginable.

“He’s not wet, yet,” Chris corrected.

Peter glared at him. “Leave him be, Christopher. This isn’t about sex.”

Chris glanced down pointedly at Peter’s straining erection and the way Stiles was mouthing at him lazily.

“Physiological response,” Peter grumbled, “Nothing more.”

Chris didn’t look convinced. “Forty-eight hours or less from now, he’ll be eyeballs-deep in Heat. The only thing that might be better than pheromones right now is his alphas filling him up.”

As if in agreement, Stiles’ tongue found the wet spot of fabric straining over Peter’s tip. Peter stiffened as Stiles lapped at him twice, then wrapped those plush lips around his head to suckle.

“Here, baby,” Chris drew his cock out, hard and flushed, “I have what you want.”

Stiles looked up at Chris without releasing his current mouthful. Peter saw him blink, the fogginess fading for a moment as the omega realized the position he was in. Then Stiles’ eyes scanned down Chris’ body till they landed on the exposed alpha cock, longer and a bit slimmer than Peter’s, with it’s nicely cut head.

“Ah,” Peter grinned, relieved by the sudden influx of slick and omega hunger in the air. “There it is,”

Relaxed and comfortable in his own skin again, Stiles disengaged with a final flick of his tongue across Peter’s soaked underwear. He didn’t have to go far though, barely turning onto his side and raising his head before Chris was feeding him his cock. The omega moaned his appreciation, squirming between Peter’s thighs as he grew hot and wet in a hurry, like his body was playing catch up in the inevitable direction they’d been heading in for the past half hour.

It was a lovely sight, watching Chris sink into their boy’s mouth. Peter shoved an extra pillow behind his back and leaned back to watch and pet Stiles’ neck and shoulders.

“Perfect omega,” Chris sighed, encouraging Stiles to take another inch.

“So perfect,” Peter agreed.

Stiles jerked, startled when Chris’ dick pushed the back of his throat unexpectedly. He didn’t pull off though. The dazed look in his eyes lifted again for just long enough for Peter to catch a glimmer of determined thought swimming behind them. Then Stiles was sinking down and groaning as he failed to get Chris down his throat.

“Don’t rush yourself, love,” Chris advised as he pulled his hips back.

Peter remembered what Stiles had shouted at them as they’d pressured him to talk, about feeling like a disappointment. He squeezed the back of the boy’s neck reassuringly and told him: “You have nothing to prove, sweet boy. You’re everything we hoped you’d be. Stop pushing yourself and just enjoy for a bit.”

“Yeah,” Chris added huskily, caressing Stiles’ jaw. “There’ll be time for pushing limits later. For now, just do what feels good for you, babe.”

Stiles whined a little, needy and pleading, around Chris’ flesh. Peter released his tight gripe on the base of his neck, and Stiles immediately bobbed his head.

Chris moaned. “Fuck, baby.”

“You’re so good for us.” Peter assured him. “Our perfect omega,”

He figured, if they said it often enough, eventually Stiles would have to believe them. They’d teach him how.

“You’re so beautiful, Stiles,” he continued as he rubbed at the omega’s chest and throat, “You have no idea how you look right now, with your alpha’s cock between your lips. It feels good on your tongue, huh? Yeah, I can tell. You love it, don’t you, you wonderful creature.”

Stiles moaned his agreement. He sat up a little more, bracing his hands on Peter’s thigh so he could get the leverage to suck back another inch. He gagged.

“Not so fast,” Chris scolded mildly, shielding the bottom half of his cock with his hand.

Stiles whined, lips immediately sliding all the way to the alpha’s fist.

“Greedy boy,” Peter smirked approvingly.

“After your Heat, we’re going to have a talk about disobedience,” Chris promised, carding fingers through Stiles’ hair.

Stiles’ next whine was contrite, but only for the moment of two it took for him to get distracted with the rhythm of Chris’ hips.

Peter sat up so he could reach down the back of the omega’s pants. “How’re you doing down here, sweetheart?”

The answer was: soaked and swollen and blissfully sensitive. Stiles mewled excitedly at the first rub of Peter’s finger over his entrance, his long legs spreading wide and eager. It pulled his waistband tight, catching on Peter’s forearm and wrist uncomfortably.

“Why don’t you show off for us, darling?” Peter suggested, pulling his arm free. “Chris, let him up. I want him naked.”

“Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Chris said, sliding his knees back off the bed.

Stiles gave an angry grumble and shuffled after him.

“No,” Chris told him firmly. He pinched the boy’s nose closed to get him to let go. “Don’t be a brat, Stiles.”

“But—!”

“No,” Chris repeated in that decisive tone that Peter had only heard since they’d discovered their omega.

It was domineering and sexy, provided it was never aimed in his direction. Peter thought he enjoy listening to Chris boss Stiles around all day though. Speaking of…

“Strip,” Chris ordered, and when Stiles’ face hardened in response he went so far as to tuck his erection back into his briefs. “You don’t get my cock back till you’re naked.” 

“Best do as he says,” Peter advised, entwining his fingers behind his head as he reclined.

Stiles glanced over at him, and Peter didn’t miss the way he licked his lips as he eyed Peter’s crotch. Like the asshole he was, Peter spread his legs and flexed his hips, really drawing attention to the spit and pre-cum stains that clung to his sizable package.

“Clothes, Stiles,” Chris grabbed Stiles’ chin and forced his gaze away from Peter. “Now.”

The boy _fumed_. For one wildly interesting moment, Peter though he might refuse.

Evidently, he wasn’t the only one considering it. Chris’ stare turned steely. “Fine. Peter,” he said, staring down the omega, “how do you feel about sixty-nine-ing it, since Stiles isn’t interested.”

A complicated rush of emotions raced across Stiles’ face at this announcement. Disbelief, anger, even a small smattering of hurt, flavored his scent in micro-second bursts that were each overwhelmed by the sweetness of his arousal.

Peter sighed dramatically, bringing his hands down to grope himself till his head popped out of the waistband obscenely. “I’ll admit, Chris, it’s not my preference at the moment, but….”

“That’s not fair!” Stiles interrupted, already struggling out of his shirt in a jostle of uncoordinated limbs.

Peter snickered as the omega went tumbling backward onto the bed, the neck of his shirt somehow catching on his ear in the process.

Chris grinned and smoothly pulled his own top off.

Stiles’ lips pursed, his chest and cheeks flushed though his eyes were certainly alert and livid as he ate up the sight of all those bared muscles. To be fair, the average alpha could pack on a significant more muscle than an omega, and Chris was certainly _not_ average, not by human standards.

Chris raised an expectant brow at Stiles’ clothed lower half and slipped his thumb into the waistband of his briefs only enough to expose the pronounced line of one hip bone. 

Stiles’ flush deepened, and he threw his shirt at Chris with a huff. “Show off.”

“And here I thought I told you to do that,” Peter pondered aloud.

Stiles turned his glare on him then, as he fumbled with his zipper.

“I’d be careful if I were you, omega,” Peter said, flashing his red eyes. “Keep looking at me like that, and I might have to do something about it.”

“I’m thinking of putting him over my knee anyway,” Chris admitted casually.

“I’m stripping already!” Stiles sputtered, kicking fitfully as he pushed his jeans and boxers down his thighs all at once.

And then Stiles was naked, kneeling on the bed with his thighs open and shiny with slick, cock hard and pink with want. He looked between them with fiery, impatient eyes. What a brat, Peter thought fondly. What a perfect, darling brat.

“Well!?” Stiles said, flushing anew as he squirmed, arms crossing over his chest. “Your turns!”

Peter and Chris shared a look, and Peter recognized his own impressed amusement staring back at him on his partner’s face.

“Was that an order, omega?” Peter asked, curious.

“Sounded like an order,” Chris commented.

Stiles squirmed, eyes wide as he realized how unabashedly forward he’d been. He was a little embarrassed, and a lot unrepentant. Peter decided it was a wonderful look on him.

Red faced, Stiles’ back stiffened and he raised his chin, “I don’t want to always be the only one naked…”

Peter looked down at his v-neck considerately. “Huh. Fair enough.”

He arched his back as he slipped the shirt over his head, and when he was done, he found Stiles gaping at him like he’d done something unimaginable.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Peter wondered as he lifted his hips to rid himself of his soiled briefs.

Stiles swallowed nervously, looking away as if eye contact was just too much at the moment.

“Talk to us, Stiles,” Chris prompted, his own body gloriously nude.

“I just….” Stiles scoffed, disbelievingly, “ _Fair enough_? Like I’m… right, and it’s as simple as that. Even that I couldn’t have been more rude about it if I’d tried?”

The two alphas shared another look that spoke volumes in less than a second.

“Well.” Chris said slowly, “You were right.”

“And it is as simple as that,” Peter agreed.

“And we wouldn’t have brought you home if we hadn’t appreciated a healthy dose of attitude.”

They waited a moment while Stiles blinked back at them, processing and slowly deciding it was safe to look at them again. When Stiles’ eye landed on his cock for the second time in the same breath, Peter decided it’d been long enough.

“How about we explore this conversation later,” he suggested with a nice, long pull on his cock. “Right now, I think you have more pressing concerns, sweetheart.”

Without further prompting, Stiles dove back between his legs. The boy didn’t say much else for the next couple hours, not until after he’d turned them both dumb with his mouth and they’d fingered him all the way to his peak.

Twice.


	10. Ten

Chris couldn’t have dreamed up an omega better suited to himself and Peter if he’d tried. Stiles really was perfect for them.

He was also a little shit.

“I’m just saying!” The omega protested over brunch the following morning. “You’re being illogical.”

“No,” Peter countered, “I’m being a reasonable and responsible alpha. Now obey me and eat your damn breakfast,”

Stiles speared a potato viciously and held Peter’s gaze as he bit it off and rudely chewed with his mouth open.

Peter glared back, growling.

Chris had half a mind to just leave them to it. Peter wouldn’t hurt the boy, not really, and Stiles certainly seemed to be angling for some sort of reaction that he hadn’t gotten yet. Maybe he should just let them talk each other into a tizzy until they exploded.

Except they still didn’t know each other all that well. Stiles was likely confused and simply acting out without thought. There was still the distinct chance that Peter might scare him off. Stiles’ Heat wasn’t scheduled to hit until the following day; without a Heat-bond, he could still leave them only too easily if he really wanted to.

Stiles jabbed his fork into another potato and dragged the metal tine across the plate with a grating sound that made even Chris’ ears twinge.

“Stiles!” Peter roared, grabbing the omega’s wrist with lightning fast reflexes.

“Enough,” Chris said calmly, standing so he could reach Peter’s shoulder for a soothing pat.

Peter’s red eyes and clawed hand remained locked on Stiles.

The omega stared back, frozen and wide-eyed. His knuckles were white where he gripped the fork.

They both ignored him.

“Enough,” Chris repeated, slower and more forcefully.

Peter let go of the boy and when he turned to Chris, his eyes were their normal grey, but his words were clipped and heated. “Christopher. When, exactly, did you want to have that talk about appropriately handling omega disobedience in this house? I think we’re overdue.”

“And I think you’re being impatient.” He shot quelling a look at Stiles, “Both of you are.”

Both of his lovers refused to deign that with a response. They also wouldn’t meet his eye. It was just his luck that he’d land himself in a triad with two equally stubborn brats. At least he had a consistent type.

“Stop being obnoxious with your food,” he grumbled at Stiles, then to Peter he said: “And stop trying to force feed him as a way to shut him up. It’ll do none of us any good,”

“Because I’m right,” Stiles muttered into his plate.

Peter sighed heavily.

Before he could respond, Chris interceded. “No, actually. But even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. WE made a decision and we’re sticking to it. Deal.”

Stiles fumed silently, glaring down at his plate. The silence didn’t last long. “But I—”

“No, Stiles,” the alphas snapped.

The omega’s shoulders lifted as he tensed, his entire body shaking with barely suppressed emotion. “Why the hell am I even here then!?” he snapped, throwing down his fork. “What’s the point, if you’re just going to stash me in the fucking Heat room—”

“For fuck’s sakes,” Peter groaned, “We are not _stashing_ you anywhere. It’s not a prison—”

“News to me! What the hell do you call that walk-in closet masquerading as a bedroom?”

“A. _Heat. Room_.”

“It’s cold and ugly.” Stiles argued, hopping to his feet, “And I hate it.”

“Then decorate it!” Peter snapped back. It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested such a thing, though it was the first time Peter had put so much venom behind the words.

“I don’t want to decorate! I want go back to bed with you!”

Chris sighed, rubbing his temple. “We’ve been over this—“

“Yeah, I’ve heard your reasoning and it’s stupid—”

“Well, you didn’t wake up today in a panic, now, did you,” Peter said testily, taking his turn to stab at some innocent food.

“Maybe,” Stiles said snottily, “because I was too exhausted for an anxiety attack after not sleeping all night in that awful room—”

“There’s nothing wrong with that room!”

“It’s awful and it smells funny!”

“You’re just being difficult!”

“I’m not sleeping in there again!”

“You are!”

“I’m not!”

“So help me, Stiles, I will—”

As the two of them kept screaming back and forth, Chris picked up his coffee and escaped to the back yard. He’d let them sort themselves out after all.

Honestly, Chris didn’t entirely understand what the whole issue was. Stiles had tearfully agreed it was probably best to sleep on his own for a little while, until he was used to being held and less likely to panic in the foggy moments between sleep and wakefulness. They’d agreed to try again once his upcoming Heat was over; surely, after three or so days of mating, he would be comfortable sleeping in their arms. Stiles had gone to bed in his brand new, omega-tested-and-approved bed, and Peter and Chris had tossed and turned half the night while talking each other out of going in after him.

Unfortunately, Stiles seemed to have reconsidered at some point in the night. He came out that morning in an even fouler mood than he’d spent most of the previous day. He was also utterly convinced that one single, solitary night more alone in his bed would be the death of him and absolute proof that Chris and Peter were idiots who wouldn’t know how to care for an omega if they had a detailed manual written by God himself.

Peter, naturally, only became more determined to prove otherwise. And that he was right.

By the time Chris had finished showering and joined them in the kitchen, the chance to reason with Stiles was long gone. He was digging his heels in on the mater, every bit as hard as Peter was.

Even scenting hadn’t helped. Stiles simply went limp in Chris’ lap while Peter made breakfast, and spent the entire time telling Chris his sleep-deprived sales pitch for bringing him back to their bed that night.

Peter had been furious at Stiles’ blatant attempt to turn Chris against him on a matter they’d already decided on. Ergo: Round two of the fight had happened at the breakfast table.

Chris had about a quarter inch of caffeine left in his mug when Round Three started up.

“CHRIS!” Stiles yelled in alarm.

Sighing, Chris went to drain the last of the coffee and—

Peter roared.

The mug hit the grass, coffee spilling uselessly, and Chris sprinted to the backdoor. He barely sprung the latch, when he went flying backward, one wriggling, jittering omega smack on top of him.

“Save me!” Stiles squeaked, scrabbling over him while Chris lay stunned on the lawn.

Peter emerged from the house, alpha wolf eyes shining in his Beta shift. The effect was somewhat lost, however, on account of all the milk dripping down his front. Quite possibly the entire gallon they had just bought yesterday, from the looks of it.

“Don’t fall for it, Christopher!” Peter seethed through his fangs. “I can smell him: he’s not even afraid, the sneaky little shit.”

“Am too!” Stiles scoffed, not at all convincingly. “I’ve never seen a wolf before, asshole! You’re objectively very terrifying!”

Peter grinned sinisterly as he stalked forward, gaze trained on the omega. “Flattering won’t save you, sweetheart,”

Chris sat up and looked over his shoulder at Stiles. The boy was crouched behind him, not looking particularly afraid or alarmed.

Stiles smiled toothily at him and batted his eye lashes. “You’ll save me, right, alpha?”

It occurred to Chris then, like a preteen realizing they were being flirted with for the first time, that Stiles was playing with them. He glanced back at Peter’s irritated snarl, and reconsidered that thought; perhaps Stiles was playing with just him.

There was nothing lighthearted in the way Peter’s body coiled to spring at the boy. Stiles must have saw that too, because the moment Chris was nearly to his feet, Stiles pushed him off balance, right into Peter.

Then he ran.

“Peter, no!” Chris snagged his partner’s arm and nearly sent them both sprawling again as the wolf tried to give chase.

“Let go, Chris,” Peter hissed, shrugging him off. “He needs to be put in his place.”

“If you scare him—”

Peter shifted back to human in an instant and turned to him earnestly. “Trust me, Chris. I can smell him. He needs this.”

Chris turned his head to watch Stiles steadily shrinking as he crossed the field that lay between their side yard and the forest. The kid could sure move fast, and he wasn’t pausing to so much as glance over his shoulder.

Now, Chris had been raised by Hunters to be a Hunter. He knew what sentient prey looked like as it fled. Stiles didn’t run like prey.

He looked at Peter, really looked at him. The wolf’s soaked chest was heaving with adrenaline, and his face was set in a serious expression, but there was a light of excitement in his eye that Chris would recognize anywhere. It was similar to the look he got every full moon.

“Let me put an end to these outbursts, Chris,” Peter purred persuasively. “Let me go now, and I can catch him before he reaches the trees and you can watch.”

For a moment, Chris wasn’t entirely sure if he was reading him right, if there was genuine anger in the hard lines of Peter’s body or if it was just pure antagonized anticipation. He reconsidered again whether Stiles had been playing with them, subconsciously or not.

“He really doesn’t smell scared?”

“No. Ask me what he does smell like.”

Chris raised a speculative brow, the hand not holding Peter at bay bracing on his hip.

“Right after he cut the top off the milk and dumped in on me,” Peter grinned, slow and menacingly, “he smelled victorious and excited.”

There was something fierce and proud in Peter’s voice, and that’s what convinced Chris to let him loose.

His mate flashed red eyes at him as he shifted again, then he took off at speed. Chris hesitated for only a fraction before running after him. Even so, Hunter training or no, Chris was no wolf.

Neither was Stiles.

Chris was several yards away still when he saw Peter throw his head back and howl just before launching himself at the boy. Stiles screamed, shrill and furious, as he was taken down in a rolling tumble. The two of them disappeared into the tall, wild grass, and all Chris could see was jostling green and all he could hear Peter’s rolling growls.

He got to them just in time to hear Stiles cry out with feeling: “Ew! Gross—Fuck!”

Peter pinned the boy to the ground on his back, straddling him, and with a vicious snarl, he closed his fangs on the boy’s jugular.

Stiles stilled instantly, his eyes and mouth round.

Chris knelt beside them, and sure enough, Peter’s fangs were closed loosely on the boy’s vulnerable throat, just below his Adam’s apple. Peter gave a warning growl and a gentle shake of his head that made Stiles whine. 

“Never run from an apex predator, babe,” Chris advised as he stood up and walked around them.

He didn’t have Peter’s nose, but he trusted it. If Peter felt it was safe to continue…. Ah. Yeah. He neared Stiles’ splayed feet, and sure enough there was a noticeable lump in the boy’s jeans.

Peter growled again, louder and more demanding. Chris saw his head shake and he just knew his lover was applying more pressure with his teeth.

Stiles twitched beneath him and whined. Before Chris’ captivated eyes, a wet stain began darkening the seat of his jeans.

What happened next was pure animal nature at work. And it was breathtaking.

The alpha let go of his omega’s throat and hissing spittle in his face right before flipping the boy over and yanking him to his knees. The omega gasped and shivered as his jeans were torn off with pure force.

“Damn,” Chris whispered appreciatively.

He rubbed his lips as he got a look at Stiles’ spectacularly soaked boxers, but the view was short lived. Peter attacked the soiled fabric with his mouth, but while Stiles did mewl and shudder like he was getting some action, Peter wasn’t working him over. No, he pulled back with a convincingly enraged snarl as he tore a hole in the fabric. Peter spat out a piece of scrap caught on his fang as he undid his own pants with far more care.

Then he lined up. Without prep or a moment’s warning, the alpha fucked into the omega with a domineering howl.

Stiles cried out, and Chris heard nothing but surprise in the sound.

Peter fucked him hard then, certainly far harder than they dared in the past day and a half. It was feral and rough, and more than once Stiles got dirt in his mouth from getting shoved into the earth. Peter was sweating before too long, and Stile was a trembling mess as he panted and spread his legs further to just _take it_.

And take it, he did.

It had been just before ten in the morning when Chris had taken his coffee to the backyard. By the time Peter finally began knotting their boy with a reverberating howl, it was nearly eleven.

Stiles groaned as Peter fucked the knot in and out with punishing snaps of his hips and Chris winced in sympathy. Stiles had tried once or twice to get a hand around his cock, but he’d needed both arms each time to brace himself against Peter’s thrusts. Now, with the added stimulation and girth of the knot, Stiles was impossibly hard and desperate with even less chance of rubbing himself to completion.

Then again, he didn’t really need it.

Peter yanked the growing knot out again and Stiles choked on the grass as his arms gave out and his untouched cock spurted. Gasping, the omega rested his head on his forearms and shuddered as Peter forced the knot back into him.

“Take it,” Peter demanded through a mouthful of fangs. He rolled his hips as he locked them together.

Stiles whined pitifully, his entire body shaking from the prolonged stimulation.

“No choice now, omega,” Chris warned, kneeling by the boy’s head. “You’re knotted up, good and tight. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

Stiles shifted his head just enough to blink one watery up at him. “F-fucker,” he hissed. “Y-you just… just let him…”

Chris reached under him to palm Stiles’ waning dick and little, utterly spent balls.

The omega whined and tried to pull away, effectively pushing back into Peter and making them both gasp as the knot was jostled.

“Somehow,” Chris surmised with a wicked grin, “I don’t think you’re any worse for wear,”

“Not at all,” Peter agreed, returning to human form so he could scratch blunt nails down Stiles’ back.

Stiles shimmied a little in a half-hearted attempt to fend off the touch.

Peter growled more viciously than the soft smile on his face suggested. He plastered himself over the omega’s back and got a good hold on his nape so he could hold his face in the dirt. “Settle down, omega. I can make this worse for you.”

Stiles whined petulantly. His lower lip quivered in indecision.

“Don’t.” Chris advised, thinking he’d finally learned to recognize the stubborn defiance on that pretty face for what it was.

As if Chris’ warning was all the justification he needed, Stiles gritted his teeth and let out a growl of his own.

Peter grunted. His eyes flashed back to red and he gave a feral grin. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Squeeze away. You’ll just keep me here longer, and you’ll get tired and sore long before I do.” 

This announcement ended with a hard, slow roll of his hips that had all of Stiles’ fingers and toes clawing at the earth. The omega seethed, and while Chris couldn’t smell his emotions, he had no problem seeing the stubbornness war with blinding, too-much pleasure on the boy’s face.

“I’d relax if I were you,” Chris said, brushing the hair back from Stiles’ face affectionately. “You’ll only draw it out, and you’ll be more sensitive for the duration than he is,”

“Indeed,” Peter moaned, clearly enjoying himself as he continued unloading into the boy.

Six minutes later, and Stiles proved them right.

“Okay!” the omega whined, trying to crawl away only tugging his rim on the knot harshly for his troubles.

“Okay, what, darling?” Peter purred superiorly in his ear.

“Okay, I yield!” Stiles snapped.

His entire body was shaking now, and he kept trying to shift his legs closer together before his body caught up to the fact that doing so would only increase the pressure and the overstimulation where he most certainly did not need it.

“Hmm,” Peter shot Chris a considerate look. “That didn’t sound particularly _yielding_ , did it, Christopher?”

“Not particularly,” Chris admitted, because it hadn’t.

Stiles sputtered, spitting grass and soil off his lips. “Fine! You win! Happy now!?”

“Now is not the time for sarcasm, darling,” Peter admonished. Then he gave a single, sharp jerk of his hips for good measure.

Stiles tensed up and screamed softly like he’d been electrocuted.

“Ready to submit now?” Peter asked sweetly as Stiles shuddered into something relatively relaxed.

The omega panted, open-mouthed and loud. His head shifted against the ground slightly.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

Stiles drew another, deeper breath with an irritated yowl. The exhale was much nicer, with a relieved sigh that carried the tension right out of his body with it.

“Good boy,” Chris praised.

Peter hummed in agreement. “He can be better though, can’t you, sweetheart?”

Stiles’ left hand lifted in a weak wave and he sighed again. “Yeah. Sure. Totally. Ugh. Carry me to my lonely, twice-damned bed, and leave just leave me there. Seriously. I don’t think I’ll be moving again this century.”

The two alphas chuckled, sharing a relieved look at the return of Stiles’ good humor.

Chris took off his t-shirt to clean the mixture of dirt, saliva, sweat and tears from Stiles’ face. The boy hummed his thanks and closed his eyes, a cheeky little smile on his lips as he allowed the caretaking.

Not long after that, and Peter pulled free with a soft grunt and an obscene squelch of bodily fluid.

Stiles sobbed dramatically. “I’m free!”

Peter rolled his eyes and placed a light slap on his raised backside.

The boy flopped over with a more genuine groan of relief and achiness, and only then did Chris take hold of his jaw and insist on some eye contact. For the first time all day, Stiles submitted to an alpha’s direction immediately and wordlessly.

“Tell me honestly,” Chris said gravely, “Are you still going to fight us about tonight’s sleeping arraignments?”

Stiles bit his lip, and Chris was pleased to see him think about it instead of immediately responding.

“Will it change your mind if I say yes?”

“Not in the slightest,”

Stiles’ face fell, but there was no flaring temper or snide calculation in his eyes this time. Thank God. It really looked like Peter had fucked the massive chip right off his shoulder after all.

“I’m not happy about it,” the omega admitted, “but I can accept it. It’s just for tonight?”

“Just for tonight,” Chris agreed, “Unless you don’t go into Heat tomorrow, then it’d be for tomorrow night too. You understand why, right?”

Stiles nodded the slight bit that Chris’ grip on his face allowed. “I’d still rather be in your bed.”

“We’d rather that too,” Peter said as he kneeled beside them. “But, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

Peter’s wolf eyes flashed, “I’m not doing this again. If you need a firmer hand, that’s fine, but if you start acting out like this because you can’t bring yourself to tell us you’re getting overwhelmed or that you need a little rough handling, Chris and I are going to have to find another way to get you to talk to us. I won’t promise next time will be as enjoyable.”

“Sex can’t always be the answer,” Chris agreed. “I don’t care how rough you like it or need it. You can always ask for it, but don’t antagonize us into it, okay?”

Stiles gulped. “Yes, alpha.”

“It’s alright,” Peter patted his belly comfortingly. “You’re still new, and it’s going to take time and practice to recognize what you need in a given moment. We’ll help you.”

“On that note,” Chris ran an appreciative eye down Stiles’ prone body, “Think you can make it back to the house?”

Stiles grinned sheepishly, “Actually… I was hoping you could carry me? In case you missed it, Peter just broke me. I’m broken. There’s no way I could make it. Seriously. I can tell from here, my hips won’t work right. No can do,”

Peter shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. He was smiling.

Chris leaned over to gather the omega in his arms, “Alright, brat. Have it your way.”

Stiles squealed as he was unceremoniously thrown over his alpha’s shoulder like a wriggled burlap sack. He kept flailed and smacking Chris on the ass, griping sarcastically the entire way. It was amusing, cute, even. And with Stiles’ exposed ass so close to his face, even Chris could recognize the scent of a well-satisfied omega. 

Stiles remained in a much better mood the rest of the day.


	11. Eleven

Stiles was Nervous. Capital ‘N.’

“I’m going to die,” he muttered to the ceiling once he’d finally mustered up the energy to roll over and open his eyes.

He woke up exhausted and sticky. Sweat sticky. Slick sticky. Icky.

“So dead,” he moaned, rubbing his eyes.

At least he wasn’t cramping yet. If prior experience was anything to go on, that meant he had at least a couple hours before the Heat really hit. Maybe three. He should have time to scarf down a couple thousand calories and fuel the next few days’ shenanigans.

Hmm. Sexy shenanigans.

Heeeeey. When did his hand end up down his pants. Oh well. His hand was a genius.

Stiles humped up into his palm, his blurry eyes closing on the view of the mostly empty, lonely Heat room. He pulled on his cock, and briefly considered fingering himself, but that seemed like too much work. His head rolled on the pillow as his fist moved a little faster. He squeezed a little tighter. Added a little twist at the end of the upstroke.

He didn’t come. Couldn’t. He whined, high and needy even to his own ears.

“Noooo!”

The door opened and an amused voice said: “Good morning, sweet boy.”

The bed dipped beside him. A large, callused hand slid over his belly, slipping into his pants along side his own wrist.

“Look at you.” the alpha growled approvingly. “Let’s take the edge off, baby, so you can have some breakfast.”

His pants got lost, and big hands spread his thighs wide. Stiles let go of his cock and opened his eyes just in time to see Chris lean down, licking his lips.

“Fuck me…” Stiles breathed half a second before Chris’ tongue swept over his hole.

Oh, but that was wonderful. He gasped and let his thighs relax open further, boneless and euphoric at the gentle pressure and nice, smooth strokes of the alpha’s tongue. He had the errant thought that Chris’ mouth really should have felt warmer than it did—maybe the alpha had just been sipping a cool drink?—but he couldn’t be bothered to chase the thought down. He let his eyes go unfocused and his body go limp.

“So open for me, baby,” Chris murmured, rubbing his beard against him.

Stiles whined, hips quaking and hole twitching. He felt high.

That tongue slipped inside him then. It wiggled and slurped and pushed at his rim. It was wonderful.

Chris chuckled and the vibration sent shivers of delight up his spine. “Wonderful, huh?”

“Hmm,” Stiles said drowsily, slapping at Chris’ head in a half-hearted attempt to direct him back to the matter at hand.

Between one blink and the next, it was over. For the life of him, Stiles couldn’t remember how. His brain only woke up properly again when he was already out of bed. Stiles blinked rapidly, staring around in alarm.

When did he get down to the living room? When did he trade in his night shirt for a fresh pair of boxers? When did he end up cuddled mostly-naked on Peter’s lap on the couch?

Stiles sat up straight on Peter’s thigh with a frown. “Am I in Heat?”

“You are,” Peter nuzzled beneath his ear, breathing deep.

“But… I didn’t even cramp…? And I’m still lucid…?”

“It’s early yet,” Peter said conversationally. “And you’re not doing this alone anymore, remember.”

Chris leaned over the back of the couch to kiss his forehead. “You’ll find having two indulgent alphas with you makes the whole thing easier. Our presence alone will be more effective than the drugs you’ve been taking.”

A thrill raced up the omega’s spine. “And knotting?”

He didn’t always remember much from his Heats, but one thing was always painfully clear: he spent every second wishing and begging for a knot. All. The. Time. Abruptly, the fact that he had two—TWO!—at his disposal hit him like a tidal wave.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles whispered, genuinely awed.

They laughed at him.

Stiles was too stunned by his embarrassingly delayed epiphany to care. Well. He had known there were two of them, of course he had, but he hadn’t _known_. Not really. He hadn’t appreciated it. For the first time since his dad announced they needed to pack his bag for The Halfway House, Stiles was completely free of his uncertainty and vaguely defined fears.

For the first time ever, he was going into Heat with confidence that it might be okay.

“I’m not going to die,” he muttered, stunned.

“Oh, you precious thing,” Peter chuckled, kissing his neck.

Chris grinned warmly. “We’re going to take such good care of you, Stiles.”

Without further ado, Chris produced a cup of something bright green and creamy. He held it up to Stiles’ mouth and the omega was so caught up in his relief that he didn’t pause before opening his mouth and letting himself be fed. Fruity, frothy, and green flavor flooded his mouth.

Stiles moaned.

“Drink up,” Chris encouraged, voice low and pleased. “Good boy,”

And didn’t that just make Stiles go warm and squishy deep down in his little omega heart. Among other places.

Peter ran his fingers up the inside of his leg, from knee to just under the leg of his boxers.

Oooooh! But Stiles liked that too. He squirmed a little, his seat damp, and kept drinking what Chris gave him.

“Slow down, love,” Chris said, tilting the cup to control the flow for him.

“Try to relax, darling,” Peter suggested, his fingertips tracing swirls along Stiles’ thigh, “We won’t let you get desperate, but it’s important you don’t overtax yourself.”

“Or us,” Chris added pointedly.

“Indeed,”

Stiles’ thigh quivered as Peter tickled him gently. He jerked his legs closed around Peter’s fingers and grumbled, “Then stop teasing me,”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Peter slipped his hand free and hugged Stiles loosely around the waist. “I honestly didn’t realize.”

“You are rather irresistible to touch,” Chris admitted, rubbing the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles blushed, and the heat of it washed all the was down his chest and pooled in his belly. He wiggled a bit, and there was an audible gushing between his boxers and Peter’s sweatpants.

“Oh my god!” Stiles whined, wide eyed and face burning in embarrassment.

The alphas grinned at each other like they’d just discovered a long-lost-and-sought treasure.

“Finish up,” Chris said with amusement.

He brought the cup back to Stiles’ lips, and the smoothie really did help cool him down. Stiles sighed as Chris pulled the empty cup away, and had to admit he felt better than he ever remembered being on the morning of a dawning Heat.

His stomach was pleasantly full despite the pre-Heat lull in his appetite, and he wasn’t even cramping. Peter’s lap was solid and comfy, and perfectly content to let him squirm there at his leisure.

“Not bad,” he decided, nodding to himself.

Peter nuzzled him again, gave his neck a little nip. “What’s not bad, sweetheart?”

Stiles leaned against him and bared his throat instinctively. “This. Heat. Alphas. Heat _with_ alphas.”

“You’re adorable,”

Chris snorted. “He’s delirious with fever,”

“Only a little. And it’s adorable,”

Stiles sighed and squirmed till he was laying in Peter’s arms rather than sitting there. He rested his head on one firm shoulder and pushed his nose against an incredibly thick throat. He closed his eyes and breathed deep as his legs rubbed together deliciously.

“So nice.” Stiles said, and when he felt Peter’s skin on his moving lips it occurred to him what a prime piece of meat was right there, just for him.

Peter groaned.

Stiles hummed around his mouthful, his tongue busy seeking out the taste of skin. His legs shifted a little more intently without his notice, but he certainly noticed the aching clench of his hole.

But there was no cramping. The deep-set ach between his hip bones throbbed to life, but only a little. It existed, but didn’t demand.

Not yet.

“Hush,” Chris said as he settled on the couch beside Peter, Stiles’ feet in his lap.

Stiles realized the soft, thrumming noise in his ears was coming from his own throat. Oops.

“Calm down a little,” Chris ordered gently. “There’s no rush. We’re going to keep this as calm and unhurried as we can, for as long as we can, alright, love? Just lounge and enjoy,”

The word _lounge_ had no place in Heat conversation, in Stiles’ experience. Neither did _enjoy_ , for that matter.

Heat was exhausting, hard, _hard_ work. The kind that left him bedridden and aching like he’d gone four rounds against an alpha wolf in a boxing match. While sick with the flu. It brought pain and frustration and very little else.

Peter’s goatee scratched across his jaw while strong, perfectly manicured hands squeezed and caressed his arms and shoulders. Chris’s more work-roughened touch focused on his feet and calves. And Stiles lounged.

Not bad at all.

“Maybe after this Heat’s over, we’ll go shopping,” Peter murmured into his hair. “You can choose a paint color. Curtains.”

“Maybe a small desk. Art work for those boring walls,” Chris mused, kneading Stiles’ sole with his knuckles.

Stiles moaned in appreciation. He didn’t feel further comment was particularly warranted on his part.

Peter’s quiet laugh puffed against his throat. “Good boy. Let us pamper you a little,”

“Mmm,” Stiles responded.

They stopped trying to engage him in conversation after that. They didn’t ignore him, didn’t exclude him, they simply let him coast along with hums and sighs, his eyes closed and his body putty in their hands.

It was possible he zoned out again, but he was still in the same position the next time he took notice of anything beyond big, strong hands and tasty smelling alpha skin against his mouth.

“I’ll have to step out to take those calls,” Peter was saying. “but other than that, I’ll be free for the rest of this week and the next.”

“Good. Maybe we’ll take a little honeymoon trip next week then, if our boy’s up for it.”

“We’ll have to stay local. It’ll take at least a few weeks for his updated paperwork to fully process, and I don’t want to risk taking him out of state until then.”

“Fair enough. Maybe we’ll make a drive to Yosemite. It’s not the Grand Canyon, but it could be fun, huh, babe?”

Someone patted the side of his thigh cheerfully, and Stiles grunted his agreement. He was pretty sure he’d been asked a question. Maybe. He couldn’t bothered to remember what was said exactly.

“He’s so out of it,” Chris chuckled.

“Oh, shush. Let him be. You enjoy it, sweetheart. Just soak up all the grade A pheromones you can get,”

“And here I thought puns were beneath you,”

“Shut up, Christopher. It was purely coincidental.”

This was nice, Stiles decided. Their voices were nice, warm and friendly and so very comforting. Their hands were nice, with their touching and their gentleness. The dozing was nice. The persistent hum of arousal in his groin was nice, provided he kept ignoring the ache there and deeper. It was all so nice.

He’d never had a nice Heat before. How interesting.

“This isn’t going to last,” Peter lamented.

“No, it’s not.” Chris agreed. “I’m surprised he’s still coasting,”

“I suspect he’s worn himself out fretting and fighting us the past two days. Now he knows it’s safe to submit to us, and he’s recouping.”

“Don’t sound so proud of yourself.”

“Well. I _did_ give him the fucking he needed to settle in.”

“Hmm. Yeah. And pretty soon, you’ll do it again.”

“You know it.”

That sounded nice too, Stiles thought. Later. Definitely in a bit.

He was sopping wet, slick saturating his boxers and gradually soaking into Peter’s cotton pants. Probably, he was making a mess of the fine suede couch too. Stiles couldn’t be bothered to care.

Not if his alphas didn’t. They didn’t care, so Stiles didn’t care. Not right now. No one who smelled so wonderful and touched him so perfectly would ever steer him wrong.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get these off you.”

Chris chuckled, low and deep and lovely. “They’re not doing much good anyway, at this point.”

Stiles whined as they jostled him. The elastic band on his waist slid off and it dragged something wet and cool down his legs as it went.

“What a mess,” Peter tutted, “I’ll have to clean you up with my mouth, darling,”

“Hmm. I could stand for another taste, now that you mentioned it.”

Sure fingers nudged at his balls, and Stiles became abruptly aware of how swollen and sensitive the organs were. He whined and batted at the offending hand without lifting his face from his alpha’s throat.

“Hush, Stiles. I know. We’ll make it better.” Someone whispered against his hairline.

Someone else parted his legs, and thrillingly long, insistent fingers slid inside him. Stiles arched and mewled, clenching around the digits just to feel the spark of pleasure.

“Yeah, you’re ready, baby. Peter, do you see this? He’s so swollen and red. Ripe.”

Another finger fitted inside him, this one thicker than the others. Stiles liked it. He liked it a lot.

“Beautiful, sweetheart.”

Stiles sighed and cuddled closer. Then he felt the fingers inside him start tugging, his rim pulled and ached in that delicious way, and that made it impossible to relax.

Someone laughed, soft and husky.

Another someone purred in his ear.

Stiles’ leg slipped off to dangle over the side of the couch, and two very different hands pried him open till, for one shocking moment, he could feel cool air _inside_ him. The omega’s eyes popped open and he wailed.

Peter’s arm tightened around him and pinned him to the alpha’s chest. “It’s alright, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

“You’re doing beautifully, Stiles,” Chris reassured.

The finger’s stretched inside him again, and this time they held him open for a bit. Stiles trembled and clenched fruitlessly.

“Fuck, baby,”

“Plea-please!?” Stiles whined.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he needed or wanted, but with every passing second the ache in his groin and gut throbbed a little louder and the peculiar, empty stretch of his rim felt wrong. Nice, a little nice maybe, but wrong. It wasn’t what he… he didn’t… he just didn’t know….

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry.”

They let his hole close, and the sudden lose of their fingers only made him cry harder.

“Give him to me. I’ll take him upstairs while you cleanup from breakfast.”

Stiles sniffled. “I—I’m s-sorry!”

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby.”

Peter kissed his cheek before urging him into Chris’ outstretched arm. “Go with Chris, sweetheart. He’ll give your first knot of the day, and you’ll feel much better,”

In the back of his mind, Stiles knew he would feel ridiculous for clinging to the human alpha like a scared baby koala, but that wouldn’t be till later. Much later. When he wasn’t so consumed by the confusing signals of his body and the Heat trying to melt his brain.

At least Chris didn’t seem to mind, murmuring in his ear: “That’s my boy. I love having you in my arms like this.”

He held Stiles up with those big, capable hands under his ass and thigh, and didn’t comment on the way Stiles was leaking slick all over him as he walked them up the stairs. Chris just squeezed his butt appreciatively, encouraging the flow, and praised him as Stiles gnawed and sucked on his shoulder.

“Such a perfect omega. You’re all ours forever after this.”

They reached the upstairs landing, and Stiles stiffened as his lower body gave a fiercer pang of deep-set achiness.

“I bet you’ll Bond before the day’s out, won’t you, baby? Make yourself our perfect little mate?”

Stiles whimpered around Chris’ shoulder. The ache was worsening with every step, like his body knew where it was headed and was getting impatient.

“God, but you smell so good already.” 

Chris let go with one hand so he could open the Heat Room’s door and Stiles’ legs squeezed around his waist desperately enough to make the alpha gasp.

His hole spasmed, and the ache finally graduated to full-blown pain as the first cramp of Heat caught up to him.

“So ready for me, baby.”

Stiles vaguely registered the sound of a zipper, then the bounce as Chris sat on the edge of the bed. He clung tighter as another cramp rippled through his lower body.

“Let’s get you taken care of, love.”

Stiles felt the blunt head of cock brush against him and it sent a thrill of need up his spine. His limbs loosened just enough to let him slid down, and with his alpha’s help their bodies joined almost effortlessly.

The omega gasped. It was perfect. He’d never felt anything like it.

“Heh. That’s right, baby. Take what you need,”

Stiles hadn’t even realized he’d been moving. All he knew was the delicious glide in and out of his hole, soothing the discomfort there back into a bearable ache.

“You’re so good at this, Stiles. So good for me. You move so well…”

The cramping was still happening in little fits and waves, but it just didn’t seem important anymore. Not worth focusing on. Not when he had that wonderful, thick alpha flesh soothing the burn inside him.

“You’re gonna make me knot, baby. Just like this.”

He liked the strain in his alpha’s voice, the tight grip of his powerful hands on his hips. Stiles moaned and rolled his pelvis, enjoying the groan his alpha emitted as much as the jab of his cock against that special spot deep inside.

“That’s it. Keep going. I’m close.”

He was close. Him, Stiles. He rocked back again to get more of that deep, shuddering pleasure. He was so close to what he wanted, he knew. He just _knew it_.

The alpha croaked out a low, devastated laugh that drew out for long moments as Stiles grinded down on him.

“Fuck me.”

“Looks like he’s doing that just fine from here,”

“Y-yeah. How’s the view?”

“Spectacular,”

“ _Please_!” Stiles interrupted, hushed and desperate.

Stiles couldn’t be bothered with conversation, his own or theirs. He could feel something nudging at his rim with every downward grind, and it brought something primal and viciously greedy out in him. He wanted. He wanted so badly.

“ _Please, alpha_.”

“For heaven’s sake, Christopher, let the poor thing have your knot,”

“It’s not like I’m keeping it from him.”

The hands on his hips tightened, just a little, and Stiles’ next downward roll had more force behind it than he expected. That additional thickness rammed against his hole and Stiles whined needily when it didn’t quite go in.

“Come on, baby. You can take it, push down just a little harder.”

Stiles lifted himself, yanking on the alpha’s broad shoulders in irritation. He came back down hard, to the same effect.

“That’s it,” Chris growled approvingly, and the hands on his hips turned bruising as they forced him down further.

Stiles froze, shocked and delighted as the knot went in with apparent ease under the alpha’s guidance.

“Not sure what was so difficult—”

“Shut up, Peter. I wanted to see if he’d do it himself—Ugh.”

Stiles squirmed and clenched happily, and the knot gradually grew inside him like it was meant to. It was nice. Very nice. The nicest ever.

“Yeah. He knows what he’s doing.”

He had the best alpha, Stiles thought as the knot filled him ever fuller. It wasn’t just _nicest_. It was the bestest.

“I can see that. Enjoying yourself, are you, sweetheart?”

Stiles tried to keep rocking his hips, but it was becoming impossible. That was okay, though, since the knot was starting to press on all the right places, and really, it took so little effort to get the most out of it.

He paused as he felt a second pair of hand massage his thighs. Someone kissed his nape and growled, a firm chest vibrating against his back.

“How’s he feel? He looked so swollen earlier, is he any tighter?”

“N-no. Not really. He’s… he’s softer. Plush. Ugh…. Fuck, but he can really squeeze…”

“Better than out of Heat?”

“No. Just… more insistent. Intentional.”

Rough bristles of hair scratched over his shoulder blade, just before teeth set into him in a slow, controlled bite. It was ticklish and exciting, and it made Stiles’ spine arch in a way that made that knot press forward just a little too sharply.

Ooooh, but that was good. Really, really good.

The alpha under him made a strangled sound and buried his face in Stiles’ throat.

“Someone discovered a new trick, hmm?”

“Fuck off,”

“Not on your life, dearest.”

Stiles leaned his head and shoulders way, way back, pressing into the alpha who was kneeling behind him. It forced his back to bend, tilted his hips just right. He panted. The pressure inside him shifted agreeably and Stiles bore down good and hard and long. Electric tendrils of pleasure coiled deep inside him and raced up his cock in equal measure.

It was good. So, so, so, so good.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Show him what you can do.”

And while the alpha inside him held on life his life depended on it, the one behind him reached down to gently run a finger over the tip of his straining cock.

“Alpha!” Stiles screamed, tensing hard enough to make the man beneath him tremble.

He came explosively, hot breath and a pleased growl against his ear with another voice moaning his praise.

Best Heat ever, Stiles thought dizzily. Then he passed the fuck out. 


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be porn. Just Porn. You're welcome.

Peter knew the moment it happened. He didn’t care what Chris said. He knew immediately. In his heart, he knew, but also in his animal brain, that bundle of raw instinct that had been coiling tighter and tighter with every passing hour of Stiles’ Heat as expectation mounted.

Also. He felt it on his knot. Literally.

“ _Ah-ah! Alpha_!”

If that wasn’t a newly Heat-Bonded omega, Peter would drive his Mercedes into the river and leave it for dead.

“ _Alpha_ ,”

“I could listen to beg for me all eternity, sweetheart,” Peter said sweetly while he ran his finger from one mole to the other across the omega’s back.

The boy was covered in the spots, and Peter had never found skin blemishes so fascinating in his life. He just couldn’t seem to stop drawing random patterns between them with his fingers. His tongue. Hell, even his dick, if he got half the chance.

“My perfect little mate. You’re doing so well,” he praised.

Stiles mewled so nicely for him in response. The boy was exhausted, face and upper body flat on the mattress with his ass in the air, hanging off his alpha’s knot like a dream. He’d been milking Peter with fitful little spasms of his hole for the past few minutes, and it hadn’t seemed particularly satisfying.

Then a shudder had passed through the omega’s body, and Peter had felt him positively melt around him. Nothing had changed from Peter’s perspective, he was still coming, still locked deep inside, and Stiles was still wretchedly hard and unspent beneath him. But from one second to the next, Stiles had eased. He’d settled down, stopped fighting for an unsatisfying orgasm, because it apparently no longer seemed important.

Because he was Bonded. After more than nineteen hours of Heat, his body had developed the chemical dependency on his alpha’s essence. Exactly as nature intended.

They were mated now. Stiles would forever crave him, would forever find himself willing to submit to no other.

Well, except for Chris, of course. They’d been careful to switch off regularly, no back-to-back knotting for either of them, so to make sure that Stiles’ first partnered Heat would recognize them both as his permanent mates.

Peter was confident they’d succeeded. Well, he had at least.

They’d play it safe till the end though. Just to be sure. It was extremely unusual for an omega not to Bond to the first alpha to see them through a matured Heat, and they were following the doctor’s and omegologist’s recommendations for dual matings. Peter was confident.

Still. Better safe than sorry.

“You should finish him off soon as I’m free,” Peter shot over his shoulder.

In his periphery, he saw Chris nodding, his eyes closed as he relaxed into the recliner in the corner. Peter had snagged it from downstairs earlier, after the second time one of them got kicked off the bed in their sleep from the other servicing Stiles a little too enthusiastically.

He appreciated Chris’ need to rest, truly he did, but he thought the moment deserved a little more acknowledgement than a mere nod. He braced one hand on Stiles’ lower back and twisted at the waist to glare at his other mate.

He snapped sassily, “He’s _Bonded_ to me, Christopher.”

“Peter.” Chris sighed and his eyes blinked open patiently. “For the last time: there’s no way to tell until after—”

“ _We’re_ _Bonded_ ,” Peter insisted with a groan as Stiles’ insides rippled around him.

Chris smiled unconcernedly and closed his eyes again. “I’m sure you are,”

“That’s fine,” Peter whispered loudly as he laid himself over Stiles’ back and nipped at the boy’s nape. His words were heated with pleasure as he continued unloading withing his little mate. “Chris can keep smothering his inner romantic. You and I know better, don’t we, sweetheart?”

Chris snorted.

Stiles whimpered. His hole clenched weakly, tired but eager to please.

Peter nuzzled him, rubbed his hands over slender hips and that slightly defined, soft tummy. “That’s right, darling. I’m all yours and you’re all mine. And if Chris asks nicely, maybe we’ll share with him.”

“You’re hilarious,”

“Shut up, Christopher. I’m whispering sweet nothings to my mate,”

“He doesn’t need sweet nothings. He needs you to finish up so he can have more.”

“Listen to him, sweetheart, he can’t wait to see if you’ll Bond with him too—”

“Not how it works—”

“—and you will, won’t you, my darling? You’ll take his cock just as well as you have been, and you’ll love it so much—”

“He must not be working you hard enough if you’re still talking,”

“—Maybe you’ll come again, if Chris knows what he’s doing—”

“Do _you_ know what you’re doing?”

“Course,” Peter said as he finally pulled out now that his knot had waned enough. He spun to sit on the bed facing Chris and patted Stiles’ raised rump fondly. “I didn’t want to wear him out completely for you. He’ll sleep once he comes again.”

It was obvious to both of them, of course. They weren’t even a full day into Stiles’ heat yet, but the omega had established a distinct and persistent rhythm already: he’d go a solid two rounds before he’d tire, and the next orgasm or two was always a bit harder, more frustrating and exhausting; when it finally came, it sapped his remaining strength and left him nearly comatose for a good hour, maybe two. Then he’d wake up, desperate and needy again.

And rinse and repeat.

It wasn’t an easy Heat, not from what they’d learned in theory back in high school or in the years of casual research in more recent years. It also wasn’t a terribly difficult Heat either.

It helped that there were two of them.

Peter had barely been free twenty seconds before Stiles was whining again. His hole, puffy and red and gaping slightly, throbbed visibly as it grasped at nothing but air. Even ass up, he was leaking alpha cum and constant slick.

“It’s alright, baby,” Chris murmured as he knelt on the bed and eased Stiles onto his side.

Peter laid down so he could pepper kisses all over their boy’s face. He liked watching that precious face as Chris entered him again, amber eyes unfocused and Heat-drunk and so very, very expressive. No matter how long (or not) he’d been left empty, Heat-Stiles always looked so surprised and hopeful the moment one of his alpha’s returned where he needed them.

“Good boy,” Chris groaned as he hugged the boy to him.

As Chris’ hips began pumping, Peter licking into Stiles’ lax, panting mouth. He loved how unapologetically messy the omega was like this, so submissive and accepting as Peter kissed him more like a wolf than a man. The poor boy didn’t have the energy to respond, but he was open to him and making the sweetest little sounds of pleasure and encouragement as Peter plucked at his lips and tongue with his own. Plus teeth.

“Let’s make this one quick,” Chris huffed into Stiles’ hair as he lifted the boy’s leg and held it aloft.

Stiles gave a high, long noise as his body shook with the power of harsher thrusts.

Peter licked over that plump lower lip one more time, then pulled back enough to see. It was a worthy sight: Chris’ cock spearing into their boy’s abused hole at speed. His knot was already waking up a little, but Stiles was so well-used that it popped in and out without pause for a good while. When it was just shy of half-way, Stiles’ body finally gave a token resistance, and Chris’ thrusts got harder, sharper.

Stiles’ erection bounced wrenchingly with every jab, its flushed weight exaggerating the movement almost comically. But there was nothing funny about the deep red, purpling state of his cock.

“Poor thing,” Peter cooed, enjoying the sight while he waited for Chris to lock.

Stiles hadn’t orgasmed in nearly an hour, not during Peter’s most recent knotting, nor Chris’, and the time before that, Stiles had come quite early before Peter had fully locked. It was the longest Stiles had gone without relief while awake since the Heat began.

“Fuck,” Chris hissed as he shoved in deep and stayed there.

“Alright, darling. You’re turn now,” Peter kissed Stiles’ cheek before sliding down the bed.

Chris’ grip on the boy’s thigh tightened, and he held him perfectly wide and exposed for Peter.

“Hurry,” Chris sighed, “He’s barely squeezing me. Fading fast.”

“I know,” Peter assured, just before swiping his tongue over the tip of Stiles’ aching cock.

Stiles whined, jerking almost violently in Chris restraining hold.

Chris groaned. “Good boy. You’ve got me.”

He was careful and deliberate as he took Stiles in hand, not squeezing, but holding him nice and steady. They’d learned early on that when it came to his penis during heat, Stiles had a very thin line indeed between what was pleasurable and what was too much. After the first few times he’d cried from it, they’d been careful to focus most of their efforts on his needy hole.

Right at that moment, though, Stiles needed something extra to push him over the edge.

Peter licked him a few times, feeling Stiles twitched and whimper as he got used to the frontal stimulation. Once he figured Stiles had had enough warning, he eased his lips over the head and suckled at him gently.

Stiles wailed. He also gave up a small burst of bitter, watery precum.

Peter stroked him with a loose fist and raised his other hand to rub lightly over the impossibly tight little balls. He kept up the minimal suction as his fingers slid behind the orbs, and then he was tracing over the tautly stretched skin of his hole. There was little movement there, Chris’ knot locked too tight and Stiles’ hole too exhausted to work much, but Peter could feel the faint flutter of muscle as Stiles’ tried to satisfy the Heat just the same.

His poor, darling boy. He needed so badly.

Peter sucked a little bit harder, slurped down another inch. At the same time, he pressed his fingers along the bruised flesh between Chris’ lodged cock and Stiles’ desperate balls.

Chris gasped.

Stiles screamed.

Salty liquid sprayed into Peter’s mouth and the alpha immediately pulled off—hands and mouth both— so the most of it landed on his face, chest, and the bed.

The omega didn’t mind. He didn’t need further encouragement to finish. Unlike an alpha, there was no need to milk him to depletion. His useless seed rushed out the moment the flood gate was opened, and it brought immediate and profound relief.

Stiles passed out immediately, Chris’ knot still lodged solidly inside him.

“Beautiful,” Peter whispered, kissing Stiles’ inner thigh before Chris eased the limb back down to rest on the bed.

Chris groaned as the new position of the leg made the boy tighter.

Peter chuckled. “You good here? I need to shower.”

“Yeah. I got him.”

Peter rolled off the bed, then paused to take stock. Chris and Stiles were spooned together, locked together, and they certainly looked comfortable. The omega was sleeping peacefully, and the alpha wore a small, happy smile as he closed his eyes and cuddled the smaller body tenderly. He hugged Stiles’ waist and even threw a leg over both of him, wrapping his ankle around Stiles’ calf and thoroughly entrapping the boy.

They’d both be asleep by the time he got back, and Peter knew, and hopefully the calm would last a while. He’d make sure to down some coffee and bring back some food for when they woke up.

He stepped out of the room and felt ten feet tall, his lovers satisfied and successfully Heat-Bonded in his wake.

~!~

Chris liked to imagine a person really could recognized a Heat-Bond immediately. Really, he did. It was a nice fantasy to entertain, a thought exercise that satisfied his more sentimental tendencies. Believing it was an entirely different matter.

Two full days into Stiles’ Heat, and he was laughing at himself as much as he was rolling his eyes at Peter.

“Aren’t you sweet,” Chris murmured fondly as Stiles mewled and sucked absently at his fingers.

He hadn’t known an omega could be so docile and happy during Heat without a knot. But here they were. Chris was leaning against the headboard, Stiles stretched out beside him with his head on his thigh as the omega played with his hand.

He’d been fingering him lazily for the past half hour, and Stiles had been more than happy with just that. He’d only recently gotten frustrated with that activity, and promptly chased after the first whiff of alpha spend that crossed his nose.

Now the boy was cleaning up his own clear slick more than anything else, but it didn’t seem to bother him since he kept finding spots of white alpha spunk to enjoy. It was strangely endearing, though Chris had to admit, he didn’t find it intensely arousing the way Peter seemed to.

But Peter had already had his turn. Now he had to wait.

“Stop touching yourself,” Chris ordered, throwing a pillow at his partner. “Save it for Stiles.”

Peter growled, eyes flashing as he threw the pillow back at him. “Then stop playing with him, and fuck him so I can get back in there.”

“No,”

“Christopher.” Peter huffed petulantly, slumping down in the recliner.

He grinned innocently. “He’s _relaxing_ , Peter. Don’t you want him to rest while he can?”

It wasn’t a question worth answering, and they both knew it.

Peter pouted, but the expression eased into a fond smirk as he watched Stiles lick Chris’ thumb like a kitten. He laughed vindictively when Stiles bit him a little, a grumpy little frown of discomfort on his face.

“Shut up,” Chris glared at Peter as he freed his hand and repositioned it.

Chris rubbed soothing circles into Stiles’ abdomen, low down between his hip bones where he could feel the cramps rippling the flesh beneath his skin. It was fascinating to feel the omega’s body do it from the outside, the muscle spasm always more pronounced without an alpha soothing them from the inside.

It was also terrifying. He could feel Stiles’ womb moving, demanding, beneath his palm and so many layers of flesh; the idea of an organ moving so independently and viciously inside a body was alarming.

It was no wonder omegas hated Heat so much. No wonder they were all—well, most—so desperately eager to mate.

Stiles’ belly roiled beneath his hand with another cramp. The omega whimpered and shifted his legs together in discomfort.

“It’s alright, my little love,” Chris soothed, rubbing a little firmer as he reached down with his other hand.

Stiles spread his legs without much prompting, and Chris slid all four fingers over his hole to check him out. He was plush, his anus so swollen that it puffed a good inch further out from his body than usual. He was soaked, and blistering hot, and he had to be sore even if he was too desperate to be bothered by it.

Two of Chris’ fingers dipped inside on his second pass without him even trying, and then there was wet, smooth pressure and they were being sucked right in.

“Ready for more, baby?” Chris asked.

He left his hand there, considering the sensation as Stiles’ body drew his fingers deeper as if on its own accord. Despite the overuse, the omega was still unabashedly interested. Stiles’ cock was hard and red again, not the comfortable pink of a new erection, but also a far cry from the hurting, desperately purple thing it could become when things got rough.

His nipples were another reassuring sign. The brown nubs were swollen and elongated with arousal, a teasing hint of what his body could do once he was bred. The left one was a little bit larger, the areola puffy and a little bit bruised from earlier attentions.

For a split second, Chris lamented how sensitive Stiles was right now. He would have really liked to even him out, get his mouth on that right teat till it matched. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought Peter was responsible for the current love mark on the left.

“After Heat,” Chris promised himself as he fed a third finger into their boy.

Stiles sighed, and his body settled a little.

“What about after Heat?” Peter asked as he retrieved a couple water bottles from the mini fridge and brought them over.

“Nothing.”

Chris accepted the water after Peter removed the cap. They both drank deeply, and Chris went on to drain his while Peter brought his bottle to Stiles’ lips.

“Drink up, sweetheart. Good omega.”

Stiles drank obediently as he lounged with his head on Chris’ thigh and his hole soothed with a few fingers. He seemed rather content, considering the ongoing cramping.

Chris could feel it from the inside now. Stiles’ legs stiffened a little when it happened, his hole spasming fitfully. Otherwise, he didn’t show much sign of being bothered. He’d been fairly calm for most of the past day, really.

It was almost as if something besides a knot was satisfying him, or perhaps taking the edge off.

Chris reminded himself, again, that it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Omegas didn’t act differently in Heat just because they Bonded to an alpha. They wouldn’t know for sure that it had happened until they saw how he reacted to them outside of Heat. Chances were highly likely that it had, or would by the time the Heat had run it’s course.

They just had to wait and see.

Hopefully, Stiles’ mood would be more stable after this, and he would seek them out boldly rather than bashfully allowing their affections. He wouldn’t keep goading them into constant fights and would finally feel comfortable and secure enough to speak honestly with them.

Chris could hardly wait.

In the meantime, he’d do what he could to encourage the omega to Bond. Even if he already had. Which they couldn’t possibly know for sure. Not yet.

“Aren’t you precious,” Chris praised as Stiles turned his head to nuzzle his half-hard cock.

The omega sighed, and Chris liked to imagine it was a happy little noise. But maybe he was just projecting.

“I think he liked the taste of our cum,” Peter nudged him as he settled beside him against the headboard. “He’s looking for more,”

Chris found he couldn’t really argue, not when Stiles was already diligently licking him to full hardness. If his tongue happened to focus on his slit more than elsewhere, Chris wasn’t going to give Peter the satisfaction of commenting on it.

“That’s our good omega,” Peter encouraged as he petted Stiles’ hair. “Even after all he’s been through in the past couple days, he’s still hungry for cock. How did we get so lucky, Chris.”

Chris snorted. “Nothing lucky about it. I knew he was special the moment we got a good look at his profile.”

Peter hummed doubtfully. “Who would’ve guessed that silly profile picture was a smoke screen for such a perfect little slut.”

Chris elbowed him in the gut none too gently. “Don’t call him that.”

“Why not? I like that he’s so shameless for us.” Peter purred fondly: “He’s our slut.”

“And what if he doesn’t like being called a sex slur?”

Peter shrugged. “Then I’ll stop using it. Somehow, I doubt he’ll mind.”

Chris watched Stiles slurped on the first inch of his cock like he was in love with it, and found himself doubting it too. 

“We’ll see,” he told Peter just to be contrary even as he tucked his pinky against the others to slid inside their little mate.

Stiles moaned around his mouthful and his cock bobbed appreciatively.

“Like I said,” Peter preened, “Our shameless, perfect slut,”

Chris grunted as Stiles sucked more vigorously. “Hmm… Think he can come without a knot?”

Peter considered Stiles seriously for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“He doesn’t seem to need it,”

Curious, Chris shoved his fingers deep and when Stiles’ mouth popped open in a surprised gasp, he pulled his cock away.

The omega blinked up at him, confusion evident on his pretty face. After a moment, he wiggled closer, mouth open and inviting only to find Chris’ other hand blocking his prize. Stiles paused.

A wicked cramp tore through him then, his body crunching down on Chris’ fingers as if in rebuke. A devastated expression crossed the omega’s face a split second before he burst into tears.

“Easy, babe. You’re alright,” Chris soothed, removing his hand from his groin.

At the same time, Peter bent down to kiss Stiles’ temple and stroke over his chest, whispering: “Shh, darling. Hush now,”

Stiles cried even as he rolled to get his mouth back on Chris. The movement twisted the alpha’s wrist and forced his fingers to slide half out, and the omega whimpered at the loss.

“It’s alright,” Peter whispered to Stiles, petting him before he shot an impatient look at Chris. “He needs a knot,”

“Yeah, well, my dick’s indisposed at the moment.”

It was true. Stiles’ lips were decidedly tight and insistent around him.

Chris leaned to the side so he could pull Stiles’ top leg up, propping his knee against his chest to expose his hole. While Stiles nursed on his cock like the greedy brat he was, Chris didn’t hesitate to press his fingers back inside.

Stiles took a shuddering breath— Chris felt the air rush past his own throbbing flesh— then the omega eased, his sobs subsided and he whined almost apologetically. His tongue swept over Chris’ tip firmly, quickly followed by a hard draw that hollowed his cheeks and made the alpha curse.

Inexplicably, Chris felt his knot throb to life.

“Dammit,” he hissed, already reaching down to block Stiles in case the omega tried for the knot.

Oral knotting was not something Chris or Peter were interested in. It was too dangerous, and not something an omega could do naturally or without weeks of training. Attempting something like that during Heat was, in Chris’ opinion, gross negligence if not outright malicious intent.

Stiles whined, and the sound was angry in a way they hadn’t heard much since he’d been in Heat. He wriggled and nearly kicked Chris in the chest.

Peter caught his leg and pinned it back down, the knee nearly touching the omega’s shoulder.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Peter consoled, “It would serve him right, trying to keep you from what you need,”

“I know damn well what he needs,” Chris grumbled. “Hold him still,”

“Obviously,”

Without second guessing, Chris tucked his thumb against his palm and pressed his hand inside the discontent omega. Stile went still and quiet as his knuckles met the tender, puffy flesh of his rim.

Then he was in.

“Holy shit,”

Chris had big hands. He had a slightly above average cock (for an alpha) and proportional knot to match, but he wasn’t so sure the girth measured up to the full width of his palm. He hadn’t thought Stiles would take it so… easily. Immediately.

“Make a fist,” Peter encouraged, excitement in his voice. “And tilt the edge of your thumb toward his prostate, then pull back just a little.”

Chris shook of his shock and got it together. He’d revisit how conveniently quick Peter had been with the instructions later, but for now he was glad for it. It didn’t hit him until Stiles was coming like a ruptured fire hose that he was effectively mimicking a knot with his fucking hand.

“H-Holy…. Damn.”

Chris squeezed his engorged knot and started coming straight down Stiles’ throat with his fist trapped in the boy’s ass.

“Oh, good, _good_ omega,” Peter crowed, “You are such a treasure. You perfect, beautiful creature…”

His watery cum pooling on the sheets, Stiles turned sweet and pliant. His mouth came off Chris with an obscene pop, only for his face and hair to get covered in the excess flood. The omega simply closed his eyes and lay there.

An undetermined amount of time later, Chris eventually caught his breath and pulled his hand free.

Peter had finally stopped cheering and had settled for maniacal grinning and the occasional silent giggle.

And Stiles… Stiles was licking Chris’ thighs clean and getting high off the scent of his groin, if the dopey, contented grin on his face was any indication.

Privately, Chris had no doubt they were fully Bonded already.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a peek at how mating is such a beneficial thing for omegas in this verse (ie. the immediate fallout from Stiles' first Heat with Peter and Chris)

Stiles woke up Wednesday afternoon and it was nothing like waking up from his previous Heats. It was an entirely new experience.

A very much _good_ experience.

Unlike his previous Heats, this time he was clean. He was sore, yes, but it was the good soreness of a hard, productive work out, not the debilitating pain of having had every muscle in his body raked over the gravelly coals of his hormones. He was exhausted, yes, but he wasn’t stupidly exhausted.

He didn’t feel like crying before he’d had a chance to open his eyes. What a win!

Stiles stretched and moaned loud and long as his body gave a token, deliciously achy, protest. He released the stretch and went limp in the bedclothes. Only then did he open his eyes.

Huh. He was naked in Chris and Peter’s bed. Another win.

He was also alone in the room, which was… decidedly not a win. Kind of the opposite, in fact.

“Peter?” Stiles called, and it came out sounding like a dying a frog.

Groaning, he rolled over the two and a half times it took to get across the enormous bed, and nearly tumbled to the floor. He caught himself and the sheet with a flail that had his individual body parts complaining.

Ah, yes. Grace, thy name is Stiles. 

He untangled himself from the sheet and walked to the door. Well… he limped there. God, now that he was upright his ass hurt fiercely in a way it never had before, and something felt weird and bloated between his cheeks in a way that was straight up alarming if he thought about it too much.

So he didn’t think about it. He pushed all thoughts of his ass to the background and limped his way downstairs.

He heard Chris and Peter from the top of the staircase, speaking in warm, lazy contented voices. He smelled bacon and something sweet that made his stomach grumble and his mouth water. Then he saw them.

His heart just about skipped a beat. God, they were beautiful.

Peter was perched on a barstool in his pretentiously soft and expensive sweatpants, slicing an apple and smiling as he conversed. Chris was at the stove, turning bacon over and wearing a mother-loving _apron_ over his briefs and nothing else so the broad, muscular expanse of his back was on full display.

These were his alphas. The knowledge rolled through him like a bizarre internal gong was being rung. All his. _His_! How the fuck had he gotten lucky enough to snag a pair of Greek Gods come to life.

His dick gave a half-hearted twitch, and Stiles felt his disturbingly sore hole spams weakly. The only thing surprising was how little slick trickled out of him.

It was enough for Peter’s nose to pick up. The wolf stopped chuckling at whatever Chris said, his head snapping to the side to catch sight of the stairs. His eyes flashed red as they widened slightly at the sight of the omega.

Stiles teetered on the bottom step awkwardly. “Uh… hi?”

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” Peter smiled widely as he pushed away from the counter. He patted his thigh in invitation, “Come here,”

He couldn’t refuse an offer like that. He couldn’t imagine wanting to.

“Hey there, love,” Chris smiled over his shoulder as Stiles crossed the open floorplan to join them.

He stumbled his way into Peter’s lap—wincing before leaning heavily on one hip—and as the alpha’s arm circled his waist like it belonged there a giddy excitement bubbled up in his chest. They’d gotten him through a Heat, and Stiles couldn’t have been more relieved and happy with the outcome if he tried.

He leaned against Peter’s chest, marveling at all that warm, smooth skin and thick muscle. Peter urged his head down onto his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

“You must still be tired, sweetheart. Go ahead and rest while we get lunch ready,”

“Hmm,” Stiles did just that, nuzzling into his throat, “You smell nice,”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You smell better,”

“No,” Stiles sighed happily, “You’re like… doused in Love Potion Number Nine. It’s good stuff. New cologne?”

Peter chuckled and Chris gave a sarcastic snort.

“It’s tasty. If smells had a taste,” Stiles commented flippantly, then he licked Peter’s throat just to make sure. “Yep. I could eat that for the rest of my life and not get bored.”

“Someone’s still a little Heat-drunk, huh?” Chris asked amusedly as he brought over the pan to tip bacon onto a paper towel.

“Nope,” Stiles countered.

At the same time, Peter huffed: “No. He’s just starting to realize he’s Bonded.”

Stiles froze. “Oh. Heeeeey!”

The two alphas laughed. Peter kissed his cheek again and stroked his hip.

“It’s nice, right?” Chris asked as he pinched off a piece of bacon and held it out, “You should feel a little more comfortable and notice a bit less frenetic energy over time.”

Stiles stayed reclined against Peter as he opened his mouth to accept the bite. Smokey bacon hit his tongue, and it was good, yes, but not as good as the particular salt-and-musk flavor of Chris’ skin. He moaned and swallowed quickly so he could clear the grease from Chris’ finger and get to the good stuff underneath it.

“Your mood swings should be more mellow too,” Peter commented as he watched Stiles lick the other alpha thoroughly clean. “And you’ll feel more drawn to us for comfort and safety.”

Stiles gave Chris one more lick, then sat forward to reach for a full slice of bacon. “Yeah, I know. They teach us all that in junior high sex ed.”

“Good,” Chris commented, “Then you should know Peter’s not wearing any cologne.”

“Not now, or ever,” Peter chimed in with a saucy wink.

Stiles flushed. “Whatever. So I was bit a slow on the uptake. In case it escaped your notice, my brain’s still recovering from being slow roasted the past few days, so give me a break.”

“Oh? Bossing us around already, little mate?”

Stiles shrugged and settled back against Peter’s chest. “We’re Bonded now, that means I’m biologically programed to consider you my devoted slaves.”

“Is that so,” Chris folded his arms and watched Stiles with a stoic expression.

“You can’t blame me. You did this to yourselves. Now feed me more bacon,” and Stiles opened his mouth wide expectantly.

“Chris,” Peter said, his eyes narrowed on the omega, “Remember how I warned you, this brat was going to need a firm hand?”

Chris hummed his agreement.

“Okay. But bacon first,” Stiles smiled widely and then, because he was nothing if not cheeky, he tacked on unrepentantly: “Please,”

Chris obligingly fed him another bite-sized piece, and this time he used two fingers to set it in his mouth and the pads of them rubbed over his tongue twice before retreating. Stiles seriously considered which he’d prefer eating at the moment.

His cock and hole did the twitchy thing again, but he was still unusually dry. Hmm. Bacon it was then.

Peter nipped at his ear and growled, “Stop teasing yourself, sweetheart. You need to rest,”

Stiles sighed. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“How do you feel?” Chris asked, surveying him with a critical eye.

He shrugged. “Better than I expected, honestly. A little sore. Well…” he blushed hotly and squirmed a little on Peter’s lap, “Maybe a lot sore… in certain areas.”

For reasons he didn’t want to dwell on, this made the alphas grin. They both looked inordinately pleased with themselves.

Stiles huffed, “Glad my pain amuses you,”

“Mmm,” Peter purred, “Want me to kiss it better?”

Chris flicked a napkin at them. “Knock it off. You _just_ told him to rest.”

“True,” Peter lamented, squeezing Stiles and petting his naked hip wishfully. “What a shame,”

And it really was, Stiles thought as he let Peter bring an apple slice to his mouth. But he was in no shape for more sexual shenanigans, and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t mind simply spending some quality snuggle time with his mates.

Maybe he could talk them into a Marvel marathon while they pampered him. Hehe.

~!~

Despite Stiles’ best efforts, there was no movie marathon.

There was lunch. Then they cuddled on the couch while arguing over movie selection. Then Stiles needed a nap before they’d settled on anything, which had been it’s own minor argument since the omega hadn’t wanted to sleep and miss out on any QAT, as Stiles called it.

Quality Alpha Time.

The omega was adorable. He’d always been adorable, but now he was comfortable and affectionate like he hadn’t been before the Heat. Before he’d Bonded to them. And now he was theirs.

Turned out, Chris was an absolute glutton for omega attention.

“You’re going to smother him,” Peter said grumpily, poking Chris in the side. Hard.

Chris wasn’t the only one craving their new mate’s attention.

“Piss off,” he grumbled, swatting Peter away quickly and returning his arm to its place around the sleeping omega just as fast.

Stiles sighed as Chris’s arm resettled over his back. Chris responded with a rolling hum that vibrated throughout his torso and the omega nuzzled into his chest agreeably. Chris rubbed his hand up and down the slender thigh wrapped around his hip and kept the soothing sound going. He hid the pleased grin on his face in Stiles’ hair so Peter wouldn’t see.

His partner was no fool. Peter huffed and settled beside them, his side pressed up against Stiles’ back and effectively pinning Chris’s wrist between the two of them.

“Fine,” Peter glowered over Stiles’ head, “But _I’m_ giving him the salve when he wakes up,”

Chris glowered at him. “You did it last time.”

Peter gestured at the omega sprawled all over Chris. “It’s my price for letting you hog him now.”

Chris considered disentangling his limbs from the boy and watching as Stiles turned to latch onto Peter in the next breath. The thought didn’t inspire jealousy—a triad mating would never work if that had ever been a likelihood—but it was distinctly unappealing when compared to the cuddly, warm body gently snoozing in his arms.

“Deal,” Chris agreed happily.

And with that, he closed his eyes and squirmed just enough to make the boy’s sleeping limbs squeeze around him with a soft whine. He greatly enjoyed how responsive Stiles was now; even deeply asleep, the boy was happiest pressed close to one of his alphas.

Peter looked only a little disappointed before rolling to grab a book off his night stand.

“Aren’t you tired,” Chris pondered aloud before closing his eyes again.

“Not particularly.”

Chris grunted half-heartedly: “Damn werewolves,”

Peter snickered, and Chris had known him long and well enough to recognize the joy of superiority in his voice.

Chris briefly considered freeing his leg from Stiles’ clinging grasp to kick Peter playfully, but then Stiles murmured softly and kissed his pec. He was still out for the count, but Chris opened his eyes long enough to see a sweet, contented smile on the boy’s face. He decided Peter and his ego could wait.

Chris had an omega who needed his besotted cuddles more.

~!~

Stiles slept most of the day away, and Peter really couldn’t blame him. Even with his wolf ability to heal and impressive refractory period, there was a distinct lethargy plaguing him, and even some lingering soreness come evening time. Not that he’d admit it to Christopher.

Not that either of them were seriously looking for anything more demanding than holding their new mate.

“That’s my sweet boy,” Peter whispered, dare say, _giddily_.

Stiles rolled straight into his arms the moment Chris pried himself free to use the bathroom. The omega was warm and loose-limbed as he curled against him, those long fingers gripping at Peter’s ribs and bicep as if he could hold onto his skin with the same security he would a shirt. Peter hummed and enjoyed the tickling feeling as Stiles settled back down.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Chris taunted as he came back into the bedroom. He tossed the jar of ΩSalve between his palms, “He’s going to wake up,”

Peter gave a put-upon sigh. “Christopher.”

“Peter,” Chris grinned.

“You couldn’t give me ten minutes to just enjoy this.”

“Nope. But if you’d rather put it off till later and let me take care of it…”

Peter stretched out a hand and snapped his fingers once. “Give it.”

Chris handed the jar over as he sat at the edge of the bed. Immediately once both hands were free, Chris ran them up the backs of Stiles’ thighs.

The omega moaned softly, and the leg partially strewn over Peter’s legs shifted higher as he wiggled.

“Stop it,” Peter hissed, knocking Chris’ meddlesome hands away.

There was a chance Stiles might sleep straight through the application. He had the first time, though granted, that had been mere hours out of the Heat and the omega had been much deeper and desperately resting then. Still. If Stiles stayed asleep, Peter could give him his medication and go right back to lazy snuggles well into the night, without giving Chris a chance to steal the omega’s octopus-like focus before morning.

Best of both worlds, if he played his cards right. Which Peter _did_ have a habit of doing.

Peter slid his upper body out from under the omega’s clutches, and the moment he sat up, Stiles’ arms wound around his waist. The omega’s face pressed into his clothed hip and the bed with a discontented whine.

“Hush,” Peter soothed, stroking a line from the boy’s shoulder down to his buttock.

Stiles gave an appeased little hum, and Peter felt the glut under his palm relax right along with the rest of him.

Chris snorted, but at least it was quietly.

“Hush,” Peter told him, far less sweetly.

“He’s not going to stay asleep,”

“If you shut your mouth, he might,”

Chris snickered silently, shaking his head with a fond smile. He reclined on the bed till he was propped up on one elbow near the footboard so he could watch.

Peter nudged Stiles’ top leg further up his lap and checked that he could reach the boy’s hole from such an entangled position. He could, thankfully, and while the view wasn’t the best it was enough to see what he was doing.

And the lingering damage.

Not that Stiles was damaged, per se, but they were ending the first day post-Heat, and Stiles was still understandably in rough shape. His hole was swollen and bruised, though not nearly as dark and inflamed as it had been that morning when his fever finally broke. He wasn’t gaping anymore, amazingly, but he certainly did look sore and thoroughly used.

As Peter opened the jar and the medicinal scent of turmeric and rosemary made his nose twitch, Stiles grumbled and squirmed a little.

“Shh, darling,” Peter whispered, petting his hip till Stiles relaxed again.

“This is going to take forever if you keep stopping to rock him to sleep,”

“Shut up, Christopher.” Peter flicked a glop of goo at him.

Chris leaned backward, letting the salve sprinkle the bedding. He quirked an unimpressed brow back at his lover.

Peter ignored him in favor of lifting Stiles’ buttock so he had decent access. He smoothed the faintly yellow salve over his fingers, warming it, before gently touching one of them to the outermost ring of vividly red tissue.

Stiles gasped, his arms squeezed tight around Peter’s waist, and his leg kicked.

Peter froze.

He glanced at Stiles’ face, and what little of it wasn’t obscured by his sweatpants and the sheets was furrowed in displeasure, but still asleep.

Chris snorted indelicately into his fist.

Peter glared and flashed red eyes at him in warning. Then he got back to work.

Stiles kept making small, hurt noises as Peter rubbed the salve into his tender flesh. He kicked once or twice, twitched a little too, but ultimately didn’t put up much fuss as the medicine encouraged his natural omega-given elasticity and recuperative abilities a boost.

Peter was almost convinced he’d pulled it off and would get to snuggle back into bed with the boy.

Then Chris just had to tap his fingers along the underside of Stiles’ foot.

Stiles squeaked and jerked, his knee going straight into Peter’s gut.

“Fuck!” Peter hissed, dropping the open jar of ΩSalve.

“Wha--?” Stiles cried drowsily, rolling away with a flail of all those willowy limbs.

Chris burst out laughing and collapsed onto his back, patting his stomach.

Peter hit him with a pillow, putting a fair bit of werewolf-able force into the swing and smacking him in the face.

“—Ow!—” Chris grunted remorselessly between cackles.

Stiles blinked rapidly around the room, shifting uneasily on his sore backside. He was the very picture of everything sweet and confused and disheveled and sleepy, and Peter wanted to bundle him up and lick him all over till he was purring with contentment.

So naturally, Peter hit Chris with the pillow again instead. The human alpha yanked it out of his hand and threw the offending item off the bed. Peter let him.

He had more important matters to attend, after all.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Peter gripped Stiles’ ankle, firm and comforting, and tugged gently.

Stiles rubbed at one of his eyes, squinting at Peter with the other adorably. “… Did someone tickle me?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Chris was just being an asshole,”

“I told you he wouldn’t sleep through it,” Chris said, oozing self-satisfaction.

“Coincidentally,” Peter told Stiles with a sharp grin, “he and I are no longer on speaking terms at the moment.”

Stiles glanced between the two of them in bemusement. “You guys are so weird,”

“And you’re precious. Now come here,” Peter tugged on his ankle again. “I wasn’t done,”

Stiles slipped down the bed, onto his back with his legs parted. Unlike before his Heat, Stiles showed no hesitation, and he followed Peter’s slightest direction so easily, as if it was second nature. Peter didn’t even need to say a word, the boy just knew what he wanted him to do with the lightest touch or nod of direction.

It was sexy, yes. But… It was unexpectedly touching, actually.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, curious as ever, as he made room for Peter to kneel between his legs.

It was incredible. Pre- Heat Stiles would have demanded an answer before he’d dared lay down for them. This Stiles—their Stiles—already knew on an intimate, organic level that Peter was to be trusted, that his alpha would take care of him. There was no argumentative or wary attitude, merely curiosity and, if Peter was reading the mellow notes in his scent right, a bit of amusement mixed with lingering sleepy confusion.

Their omega was well and truly mated now. The evidence was right there, proudly on display.

Peter had never been more moved.

“I’m just giving you something to help you recover faster,” Peter said after swallowing the unprecedented lump in his throat.

“Here,” Chris said, holding out the jar of ointment after retrieving it from the floor. “You finish with him, I’ll wipe this shit off the carpet,”

“Thank you,” Peter accepted the jar with a smirk. “Serves you right, having to clean up your own messes,”

Chris scoffed, “You’re the one who dropped it,”

“Yes, well unexpected blows to the gut will do that to a fellow,”

“Who hit you!?” Stiles pouted concernedly, rearing up on his elbow and trying to reach for Peter.

Peter caught the boy’s wrist and kissed his palm reassuringly. “No one, sweetheart. Lay back down for me,”

Chris gave Stiles a wink, “You tried to take him out with your attempt to save your ticklish feet.”

Stiles blushed and flopped backward onto the bed with a groan. “I am _so_ sorry…”

“Don’t be,” the alphas said as one.

“I’m not hurt,” Peter reassured him.

“It was hilarious,” Chris… _reassured_ him.

Peter threw another pillow over his shoulder at him. “Don’t you have a mess to clean up? Leave me and my omega be,”

He didn’t turn to look, but he could hear the smirk in Chris’ drawl as he said, “That’s m _y_ omega,”

“Boys, boys,” Stiles sighed happily, waving his hand in the air, “We get it. You’re both pretty.”

“Brat,” Chris grumbled.

Peter reached under the boy and pinched his ass.

Stiles yelped and his hips jumped into the air to get away from the surprise sting.

“Get back here,” Peter growled playfully.

He grabbed at the boy’s thighs and tugged his lower body onto his lap. Stiles let him with a breathless giggle, and then Peter had a much, much better view as he finished applying the medicated cream.

Stiles whined and squirmed the entire time. Peter couldn’t honestly say he didn’t enjoy himself.

By the time they were done, Chris had cleaned the carpet and was sitting on the edge of the bed, one palm splayed over Stiles’ belly.

“We need to feed you more,” Chris commented.

Stiles shrugged. “It won’t matter. I’ve always been skinny, and it’s not like I’ve ever been one to starve myself.”

There was no sign of self-consciousness when he said it. Peter privately rejoiced at the additional suggestion that the Heat-Bond was already having a stabilizing effect on their omega.

“So long as you’re healthy,” Peter commented, laying his hand over Chris’ and letting his fingertips brush over Stiles smooth skin.

Stiles looked down at their hands with a small frown. “… Do you think I’m pregnant?”

Peter froze. Beside him, Chris yanked his hand away as if he’d been burned. Peter removed his hand more slowly, gently caressing the pale flesh as he left it.

He caught Chris eye, and cleared his throat.

“Unlikely, sweetheart.”

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, glancing between them like he was following a tennis match.

“You’re newly Bonded,” Chris chimed in awkwardly, patting Stiles’ arm, “You’re body had… other priorities, this time around,”

“Which reminds me,” Peter rubbed Stiles’ thigh with forced enthusiasm, “If you’re feeling up to it, we should go see my pack’s healer tomorrow. We’ll get your status updated, and we can get you a contraceptive shot while we’re at it.”

Stiles paled. “Oh. I thought you guys wanted kids…?”

“We do,” Chris rushed forward and kissed his cheek, then his forehead, and finished speaking with his lips pressed there, “Just not right now, baby. We want to enjoy it being just the three of us for a while.”

“Oh. Good,” a bit of color returned to his cheeks and he relaxed back into the pillows again with a lopsided grin. “That’s good. I am totally not ready for a baby any time soon.”

“None of us are,” Peter said, his own knot of tension evaporating into nothing. They had agreed about kids before even signing the adoption paperwork, but sometimes omegas could get weird in the days fresh out of a Heat; Peter truly didn’t fancy dealing with a momentarily hormone-happy, baby-fevered Stiles right after their very first Heat together. 

“You’re young, Stiles,” Chris continued calmly, “We have plenty of time to get to that.”

“Yeah,” the omega agreed, then a mischievous glint sparked in his eye. “But we should probably get plenty of practice in, don’t you think?”


	14. Fourteen

There were some definite perks to being mated, Stiles realized in the days following his Heat.

For one, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so _light_. Sure, he still worried and fretted, mating hadn’t cured him of his anxiety or anything like that, but the burden was so much less weighty now; it didn’t linger and fester in his gut or his heart. He was free to bury his head in one of his alpha’s chests with not even the slightest fear of judgment while the mess in his head sorted itself out.

Chris was incredibly good at calming him down.

Peter was incredibly good at distracting him when he needed it.

Both of them were amazing. Before their first full week together was out, Stiles couldn’t imagine his life without them. He’d been happy with his dad—stressed and dangerously hormonal, yes, but he’d thought he was happy. Now that he knew what it was like, that the proverbial other shoe had finally dropped and it hadn’t been the end of the world so much as it had been the admittance to an entirely new, brighter one, now…. Now he fully appreciated just how rough the past few months since his maturation had been.

Compared to his present, it had been absolute hell. For himself and his dad.

“Feel better, love?” Chris murmured into his ear.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed and slumped back against the alpha’s chest.

They were sitting in the back yard, Chris’ legs stretched out on the reclining lawn chair with Stiles settled between them. It wasn’t the first time Chris had dragged him out there so the fresh air and the alpha’s iron-like embrace could help him clear his head and process whatever thoughts had worked him up. There were no electronic devices or chores or other people to overwhelm his attention out there.

It was exactly the sort of thing Stiles needed after a panic attack, minor though it was this time, and providing it was exactly the sort of thing Chris needed as his alpha.

Stiles understood that now, how the mating bond helped an alpha anticipate and address the needs of his omega, how doing so satisfied his own needs. Chris and Peter both did it, albeit in different ways, and Stiles was neither stupid nor blind enough to miss how much they enjoyed and even thrived on caring for him.

His poor father had been muddling through the past four months, striving to care for an omega he had no Bond to besides that of a parent. Noah was still an alpha, Stiles was still an omega, and when it came down to it, the incompatibility of close blood relations didn’t stop the dynamic need to protect and provide. It just made it harder to live with.

In hindsight, the two of them had been dangerously codependent. Stiles should have left home earlier, before his first Heat, but they’d both been so damn scared and reluctant.

And now his father had to sell his house. Stiles’ childhood home.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles huffed, turning to rub his face into Chris’ shirt, “I don’t know why I’m still so worked up over every little thing…”

“Change is hard,” Chris responded softly as he rubbed Stiles’ arm, “And it’s not every little thing. These are big, life-altering events.”

Stiles snorted. “It’s not like it’s altering _my_ life, though,”

“By association it is. You’re entitled to have an emotional stake,”

Stiles sighed, and not for the first time he realized how bizarre it was to be mated to someone like Chris. Because the man was right, and he was validating and encouraging and a dozen other unconditionally supportive things when Stiles needed it. He was also a little irritating, because Stiles thought he would have liked to just yell and scream for a while, but that would have only made him feel worse to do that in the face of Chris’... well, _Chris-ness_.

“It’s just…” Stiles sniffled into Chris’ chest and lifted his nose to seek out more of the alpha’s scent at his throat. “Everything’s happening all at once. Like the whole world’s changing, and I just… I just wish it would slow down enough for me to catch up.”

It didn’t matter that he knew he wouldn’t live in Beacon Hills again. In some corner of his mind, his childhood home, his haven, was supposed to remain preserved. He was supposed to be able to go back to visit every now and then, maybe.

That was no longer an option.

And the news came right after he’d learned Lydia had accepted the application of an alpha all the way in New York, and once his status was updated, Natalie would no longer be an appropriate person to have contact with. Sure, he’d only known them a few weeks, and he’d known from the beginning that Natalie’s interest was professional and Lydia’s had been even more transient. Still though…

More and more strings to his past were being cut loose. Natural and expected as it was, it still hurt.

It also left him whirling and unanchored at the most random moments. He was finding it impossible to feel at home in Peter’s and Chris’ house when every few hours something loosely related to homesickness would sweep him up in another spiral of uncontrolled thoughts.

“I know, babe,” Chris whispered, lips pressed to Stiles’ hair. “It’s rough, but we’ll get there.”

“I’m tired of feeling crummy about it,” Stiles whined, “I don’t want to think about it anymore,”

It was easier to handle the heartache and the anxiety when smothering himself in alpha musk, so that’s exactly what Stiles did. He clung to Chris’ shoulders and curled up against him, his face pressed to the hollow of his throat. He took deep, rattling breaths and willed himself into a stupor.

It wasn’t foolproof. Stiles had a hard time shutting his racing thoughts off for any real length of time. But it was something.

Chris rubbed his back and left his mouth pressed to Stiles’ hair as he hummed soothingly.

That was how Peter found them sometime later.

Stiles felt the vibration of Chris’ throat against his lips and the humming stop just before he felt Peter’s weight settle on the footrest behind him. Then a second pair of hands were on his shoulders, kneading him gently.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?”

Stiles sighed and turned around so his back was flush to Chris’ front and he could meet Peter’s eye. “Not really,” he admitted morosely, “I’m not crying anymore, but still rocking the pity party blues, I guess.”

Peter cupped his cheek and Stiles nuzzled into his palm on instinct. It felt good to be touched by them.

“Are you feeling up to going out?” Peter asked with a small smile. “Deaton had a cancelation. He can fit us in this afternoon,”

Behind him, Stiles felt Chris throw his head back and huff. “Finally,”

They were four full days past his Heat, and Stiles was still listed as adopted in his state record. Peter’s pack healer was, it seemed, the best omegologist in the area, and his on-call responsibilities to the pack only extended to emergencies. Between the clinic’s jammed schedule and the weekend, they either had to wait for an appointment more than week out, or fold and travel the several hours to the nearest Halfway House and deal with the long waits as a walk-in.

None of them were interested in the latter.

If Stiles was honest, he didn’t want to do much of anything besides cuddle and sleep the day away. But this was important, and his alphas would feel a lot better knowing their claim on him was officially recognized.

“Okay,” Stiles sighed, squirming back into Chris and getting even more comfortable. “Do we have to get going right now?”

“Not immediately,” Peter answered as he dragged his hand through Stiles’ hair. “We can relax for another hour,”

“Okay,”

Stiles closed his eyes as Chris’ arms tightened around him. He felt Peter’s hands on his knees and spread his legs at the gentle urging so the werewolf could settle between them, his head resting on Stiles’ belly. Chris’ embrace and Peter’s weight were warm and comfortable, like the sun on his skin, and it helped. Stiles felt his worries and sorrows recedes to the background, gently soothed by his alphas’ presence and the power of their scents.

Barely more than a week ago, Stiles hadn’t been able to consider such a scene without spiraling into an anxiety attack. Now, though, he felt only relief as he let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

~!~

Chris spat into the tub and capped it with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

“Relax, Christopher,” Peter rolled his eyes as he handed his own saliva sample to the nurse.

“I’m fine,” Chris countered as he accepted the dry square of cloth from the nurse and shoved it under his shirt to rub over his armpit.

Peter did likewise, though with far less attitude in his movements.

The nurse chuckled and gave the werewolf a wink. Chris knew he didn’t like her. No sense of professionalism at all.

“It’s alright,” she said, genuinely amused, “Plenty of alphas get agitated during the testing. It’s perfectly normal to dislike the suggestion of a mating claim being in doubt.”

“It’s not in doubt,” Chris glared at her as he jammed the cloth into the provided plastic bag. “We already know he’s ours. We’re only here because of the legalities,”

“Of course,” She smiled politely.

“We’re very confident,” Peter agreed, oozing easy charm as he wrapped his arm around Chris’ waist and gave a reassuring squeeze.

Chris frowned at him as the nurse left them alone in the private waiting room. “It really doesn’t bother you? At all?”

Peter shrugged. “Not really. But it’s not surprising that we’re responding so differently; I’ve always trusted my instincts more fully than you.”

Chris sighed and rolled his shoulders back even as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “You’re right. I know better than this.”

Peter gripped his belt and used it to force Chris to face him fully, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Want me to distract you?”

“Hmm.”

He could always count on Peter to break the tension of whatever moment. After so many years, the wolf was simply too good at getting under Chris’ defenses and curtailing his general irritation. There were such better ways to redirect that kind of energy.

And no matter how much the red tape and legal expectations bothered his alpha instincts, Chris knew there was nothing to worry about. Not really.

So he let Peter draw him into a kiss and then Chris deepened it with the sole intention of overwhelming himself with lust till he forgot where and why they were there. He dove into his mate’s mouth forcefully, his tongue lashing out and their teeth clicking together.

Peter, as always, met him half-way. Fire with fire.

There was nothing gentle or sweet in their kiss. Peter was every bit as dominant as himself, a hot blooded alpha in truth, and Chris relished the fight when they came together like this. Peter’s body was a hard line of thick muscle and coiled power against him. He gave as good as he got, and while he would never bring his supernatural strength to bare against Chris, he certainly never shied away from giving him a worthy challenge.

Peter growled, low and rumbling, and Chris felt claws prick through the seat of his jeans.

Chris bit his lover’s lip harshly. “I’m fucking you when we get home,”

Peter responded with a hard roll of his hips and one thigh slipped between Chris’ legs. “Yes,”

They rocked together for a minute, and it would have been obscene and doubtlessly the sort of thing they’d get in trouble for if they’d been in a public waiting room. As it was, Chris trusted Peter to keep an ear out for the sound of any approaching nurses as he lost himself in the taste and feel of his lover.

Suffice it to say, he was well and truly distracted.

Apparently, so was Peter.

The door opened while they were still tightly entwined, Peter’s back against the far wall with Chris all over him. He heard a sharp intake of breath and a disapproving throat clearing, and a moment later the scent of heavy, heavy slick flooded the room.

Chris lifted his head to see Peter grinning diabolically. Perhaps the wolf hadn’t been too distracted after all.

Stiles and one of the nurses stood in the doorway. Chris took no real notice of the nurse, not when Stiles stood there, wide-eyed and flushed and smelling like sex.

“Don’t stop on my account,” the omega murmured.

“Later, sweetheart,” Peter winked as he straightened his collar.

Chris swatted his ass for letting them get caught, but it only served to turn Peter’s eyes darker with heat rather than curb such behavior. Which was just fine, since Chris couldn’t really say he minded. He was still hard in his pants.

And Stiles had noticed. He whimpered, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

Unfortunately, the nurse noticed too. She cleared her throat, loud and pointedly. “Mr. Hale, Mr. Argent, congratulations,” her tone was cool and not at all congratulatory, “Your omega passed all testing, and Dr. Deaton has already updated his status in the omega registry. You can collect the temporary mating certificate at the front desk when you check out, and the official one should arrive in the mail within three weeks.”

“Thank you,” Chris said perfunctorily as he gathered Stiles to him.

The omega licked his lips as he squirmed into the embrace. God, but he smelled good.

“If you have the time to wait while the doctor finishes up with another patient, he do Stiles’ new patient exam today and give him the contraceptive shot,”

“That would be great, thank you,” Peter graced her with a smile. “We’ll wait here,”

The nurse gave them a stern glower and a shake of her head as she exited the room. Once they were alone, Chris dragged his palms down the length of Stiles’ back, till he could press firmly against his lower back at the same time he bucked his hips forward.

Stiles moaned, and Chris felt his cock shifted, hard and eager, against his hip.

“That’s my good omega,” Chris murmured, groping the boy’s backside.

“Please,” Stiles whined. “A-alpha… I need…”

“Shh,” Peter whispered, petting him tenderly. “You can wait till we get home,”

Chris kissed his forehead and whispered hotly, “If you’re good, maybe Peter will knot you later while I fuck him,”

Stiles whined again and buried his face in Chris’ chest, his knuckles white around fistfuls of shirt.

Neither of them had knotted the poor boy since his Heat ended. They’d agreed it was best to get him checked out by a professional first, no matter how well Stiles seemed to have healed up. In the past three days, they’d fucked him half a dozen times, but were always careful to either hold back the knot or even pull out entirely.

“Please,” Stiles pleaded, voice cracking, “That. Can we do that!? Promise?”

Chris chuckled and met Peter’s eye over the boy’s head. “Yeah, baby? You want to help me make Peter lose his cool?”

Peter’s brow arched daringly, but Chris recognized the heat in his eye. “You’re certainly welcome to try,”

Stiles twisted around in his arms, turning those big, needy eyes on Peter, looking him up and down. He was a little breathless as he asked, “Can I… first, can I watch you?”

Peter’s eyes flashed dangerously, his smile turned sinful “Oh? Are you a bit of a voyeur, sweetheart?”

Stiles blushed and stepped backward into Chris. He gave a sheepish grin. “Uh…maybe?”

Chris grinned and squeezed his omega’s hips as ideas ran through his head. “Well then. We’ll just have to give you a show later, won’t we,”

~!~

Deaton didn’t keep them waiting long, thankfully. If it’d been any longer, Peter might have just thrown caution to the wind and gone down on Chris in the waiting lounge to give Stiles a preview.

Instead, they ended up crowded into an exam room, Stiles aroused and leaking slick all over the paper mat beneath the sheet covering his lower body. He was not amused.

Peter was. He just couldn’t look at the grumpy, frustrated omega with a straight face. The boy was positively livid and adorable that no one was attending his pressing _need_. Peter might have been more sympathetic if he wasn’t already planning to make Chris drive home so he could wash his face with all that slick in the backseat.

“My,” Deaton said as he settled in his stool and peaked beneath Stiles’ sheet, “Do you normally produce so much slick, Stiles?”

The omega’s face burned red and his mouth pursed in an unhappy pout. “… Not exactly.”

Chris grinned and crossed his arms smugly.

“He may have gotten a bit… worked up,” Peter snickered as Stiles huffed and avoided looking at either alpha. Enjoying the boy’s mild embarrassment, he tacked on: “Recently.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles gritted through his teeth. “I hate you both so much,”

Deaton’s brows went up in gentle surprise at Stiles. “It’s good to know you’re so comfortable with your mates already.” He gave Peter and Chris a side-eye, “I’m sure you’re encouraging as much. Both the comfort and the… attitude.”

Peter grinned wider, feeling his teeth sharpen a little, “Of course,”

Deaton gave a curt nod, then turned his stoic expression toward the mater at hand, with vinyl gloves snapping closed on his wrists.

Alan Deaton had been the Hale Pack’s physician for longer than Peter had been alive, though his healing magic kept him youthful. Peter knew the man was familiar with the wide and varied opinions differing members of the pack held concerning the handling of omegas, but no alpha’s politics had ever prevented him from prioritizing his omega patient’s health.

It was a big part of why Peter had been so insistent that they use Deaton as Stiles’ private doctor rather than using the public providers at the Halfway Houses. Deaton could be trusted, tried and true, to give Stiles the best care available.

It also meant Deaton, despite (or possibly because of) his pack affiliation, could be relied upon to keep Stiles’ information between themselves and no one else. Legally, Pack Alphas could request and be granted health records of any member of their pack, but Deaton’s private clinic had a strict confidentiality policy.

That suited Peter and Chris ideally. Hell, in Peter’s perfect fantasy world, the pack would never learn about Stiles.

“Your Heat ended three days ago?” Deaton asked, hands and gaze between Stiles’ legs in the stirrups.

“Uh. Yeah, today’s the fourth day…”

“And you’ve had intercourse since then?”

“Um, yea--- I mean, yes…”

“We haven’t knotted since his fever broke.” Peter added helpfully.

“Yeah, no. I mean, I wanted to, but… we had sex, like normal, boring—well, not boring, of course it wasn’t boring, I just mean, like not extreme or, like, especially straining sex,”

“Stiles,” Chris interrupted, deadpanned.

The omega winced, flushing anew. “Yes. We had sex,” he answered Deaton shortly, then in a small, nervous voice: “Was I not supposed to?”

“Depends.” Deaton said without inflection, “Was it painful?”

“No…”

“Then I see no reason you should have abstained.”

Stiles slumped in relief. “Oh. Good. So… does that mean I can be knotted again?!”

Chris snorted.

Peter grinned. “Glad your priorities are in order, sweetheart,”

For once, Stiles didn’t blush or shoot him a bashful smile; no, no, he glared at Peter, utterly unamused as he grumbled, “Damn right, they’re in order. I have a month before birth control will be vitally necessary, but I’ve been trying to get this itch scratched already for days. Days, Peter. You try having unfulfilling sex—alright, fine, that’s not accurate. Let’s call it less-than-the-acceptable-standard-sex—for the better part of a week—”

“It’s been three days,” Chris reminded him, expression stoic.

“My point still stands—”

“If you’re quite done,” Deaton interrupted waving a clear plastic instrument to get Stiles’ attention, “I need to take a look inside.”

Stiles stiffened and his righteously aggrieved attitude curbed immediately. “Right. Yeah…. Go ahead.”

Peter simply couldn’t leave him be like that. He crossed in front of Chris and leaned on the exam table so he could hold Stiles’ shoulder and kiss his forehead. “Relax, darling. Deaton won’t hurt you,”

“It’s perfectly natural to be uncomfortable with anyone down here beside your mates,” Deaton murmured softly as he lubed the speculum, “We’ll make it quick. Deep breath,”

Peter kissed him again as Stiles’ face screwed up in discomfort. “Ew. It’s… cold.”

“You’re alright,” Chris assured, placing one hand on Stiles’ knee and holding it firmly.

Peter caught Chris’ eye and recognized the itching need to touch the omega just then; Stiles was uncomfortable, vulnerable and being touched where their newly Bonded instincts knew was meant only for them. It was irritating and concerning, but more importantly it was distressing to see their little mate upset.

And Stiles _was_ upset. It wasn’t like the confirmation exam with Melissa had administered. The omega whimpered and twitched, startled into nearly jerking his foot out of a stirrup more than once. His eyes watered with tears.

He wasn’t in pain, Peter could tell that much, but he was definitely in distress.

“Everything looks good,” Deaton announced, sliding the speculum free and stepping away as he disposed of his gloves. He looked between the two alphas expectantly, “You wanted the Depo shot, correct?”

“That’s the one that’ll last three cycles, right?” Chris asked.

“The omega formula is a bit more durable. If you’re planning to try for a pregnancy in four months from now, I might recommend putting him on a pill.”

“We’re good with the shot. Right, Stiles? Peter?”

“I suck at remembering pills,” Stiles murmured tearfully. His hand slipped beneath the paper sheet, between his slayed legs. 

Peter nodded, “No sense dealing with a pill regiment that’s subject to human error when we’re not looking to try any time in the next year.”

Deaton nodded. “I’ll send a nurse in with the shot then. In the meantime, you might consider reacquainting him with your touch. So newly Bonded, he should find it soothing, even if he wasn’t so recently aroused.”

The doctor had no sooner closed the door behind him, when Chris yanked the sheet off of Stiles’ raised legs. The poor boy’s cock was soft, but his hand was covered in slick and lube where he was gingerly fingering himself.

“Want some help, sweetheart?” Peter asked, already sliding his hand down the boy’s belly in a comforting glide.

Stiles sniffled. “Sorry… I think I need…. I don’t know….”

“Don’t be sorry,” Chris murmured, moving to stand between the stirrups.

The human alpha took Stiles’ wrist and gently pulled the omega’s fingers free. Stiles whined, his hips shifting uneasily on the table.

“Okay, sweetheart. You’re alright,” Peter whispered in his ear as he slid his palm over the omega’s flaccid cock and lower.

Stiles was wet and warm and receptive, like he always seemed to be when Peter and Chris touched him. Peter slid his middle and pointer fingers inside without pause, and the omega’s hole clutched at him like a desperate vice.

“You did so well, Stiles,” Chris said as he rubbed at the flesh stretched around Peter’s digits.

The omega took a deep, bracing breath, and closed his eyes before his tears could fall. Peter slid his fingers in a few shallow thrusts and felt the boy’s cock jerk against his wrist.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Peter kissed his cheek and used his other hand to pet through Stiles’ hair once before gripping the strands in a tight, but not painful hold, “Come here. Scent me and remember who you belong to.”

Stiles turned his head, following Peter’s lead easily, till his face was tucked against the alpha’s throat. He felt the boy breathe deeply and his hole squeezed tight and needy around him. When the omega exhaled, his hole eased up and finally relaxed enough that he could take a third finger.

“Chris,” Peter nodded toward where his own hand was working.

“Got it,” and Chris’ first finger pushed inside alongside his.

Stiles mewled sweetly, and a second later Peter felt him mouthing at his throat like a tentative pup testing a newly cut fang.

Just as Deaton had said, no one showed up too soon to interrupted them. It was a good thing too, since it took such an unexpectedly long while before Stiles stopped trembling and his upset noises turned to cautious little sounds of pleasure and relief.

He never got more than half-hard, but Peter was satisfied when the chem-signals of contentment overrode any hint of distress.

There was a knock on the door, and Chris threw the paper sheet back over Stiles’ legs as they left him empty again. Stiles gave a single plaintive whine, then settled for gripping Peter’s shirt collar hard and keeping him close to nuzzle against.

Peter couldn’t say he minded. It was intensely satisfying to have his omega rely on him so viscerally.

“Stiles Argent-Hale?” the nurse prompted as she entered the room with a stainless-steel tray of supplies.

Stiles grunted in reply. He pressed his mouth into the hollow of Peter’s throat. Hard.

Peter grinned into his omega’s hair.

“That’s us,” Chris answered.

“Excellent. I have one quarterly dose of the omega depo contraceptive here. He’ll need to come back every three months for continued, long-term use, and if he experiences any nausea or extreme fatigue in the next week, you shouldn’t be alarmed, but we’re always available for a phone consultation. Any reaction more severe is unlikely, but just in case, you should have Dr. Deaton’s on-call number saved.”

“We already do,” Peter assured her.

“Good. In that case, Stiles, go ahead and roll onto your side for me,”

The omega groaned as Peter tugged him toward him, enabling the omega to hide his face in his throat as he was repositioned. The nurse set down her tray, donned a pair of gloves, the folded down the top two inches of the sheet to expose the topmost curve of Stiles’ left butt cheek.

“Wiping you down now,” she warned the omega right before swiping a disinfectant wipe over his rump.

Stiles tensed and hurried to fill his lungs again with Peter’s scent.

“And three. Two. One— And done.”

Stiles’ hands tightened on Peter’s shirt and he tensed again, but otherwise he didn’t react to the needle. He didn’t flinch and he didn't moan.

“Good job, babe.” Chris praised, reached over to rub his sore butt over the flesh-toned dot bandage.

Stiles grumbled and swatted at him blindly.

“You can make a follow-up appointment and collect his temporary mating certificate at the front desk.” The nurse said with a cheerful smile as she made for the door.

“Thank you,” Chris and Peter replied.

The door cracked open and she paused, half-turning to eye Stiles. Peter realized she hadn’t so much as glimpsed the omega’s face the entire time she’d been in the room. At least her smile was sympathetic as she asked: “Rough reaction to the internal exam, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris murmured, rubbing Stiles’ shin.

“Don’t worry. It’s perfectly normal. He might be a bit clinging for a few hours, but it’ll pass. Just be patient with him. Knotting him before he sleeps tonight will help.”

“…Thanks,”

“Good luck,”

The nurse gave them both an encouraging wave and finally made her exit.

“Alright, sweetheart.” Peter pried Stiles off his shirt and leaned back to get a look at the omega. “Ready to go home so you and Chris can ruin me for any and all other men?”

Stiles gave a half-hearted smile. “Not really feeling all that sexy at the moment, honestly,”

“That’s fine, darling,” Peter kissed his forehead, “We can cuddle and watch a movie instead. I just want to hold you for now, sound good?”

“Yeah. I could go for that…. Maybe we could order pizza too?”

“Whatever you want, love,” Chris promised, holding out Stiles’ underwear and jeans.

Stiles stood on his own just long enough to shimmy back into his pants and sneakers, then he latched onto each alpha’s arm like they were a lifeline and he was lost at sea. He was unusually subdued and quiet as they made their way out of the exam room, down the hall, and into the main lobby. He leaned heavily into Chris’ side and held Peter’s hand with white knuckles while they waited in line for the administration desk.

He whined, the first sound since leaving the exam room, when Peter forced himself to let go of his hand so he could signoff on the paperwork and collect the temporary certificate.

“Congratulations, Mr. Hale, Mr. Argent.” The beta behind the desk said as he proudly presented the document in it’s manilla folder.

“Thank you,” Chris said politely. He hugged Stiles tightly with both arms, and Peter smiled as he turned to see the way the omega seemed to return the embrace with his whole body.

“Alright,” Peter announced as he tucked the paperwork into the inner pocket of his jacket, “Let’s get our omega home, shall we,”

“ _Excuse me_!?”

Peter froze. His blood ran cold in his veins. He saw Chris’ eyes go wide with alarm in the same instant.

“Peter Anthony Hale. _Our omega_!?”

Heart sinking, Peter turned to face his Pack Alpha and older sister.


	15. Fifteen

It was, without a doubt, the worst possible moment for Stiles to meet Talia. Chris knew it immediately, even before he turned to see the woman gaping at them. He squeezed Stiles to him tighter reflexively, till the omega whined in discomfort.

“You actually did it!?” Talia said, amazed and delighted as she stared at Stiles. “You adopted an omega!?”

Peter bristled visibly. “Mated, actually. We’ve mated him already.”

Talia looked to her brother then, eyes narrowing. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Peter shrugged, and Chris might have believed the nonchalance if he couldn’t see how stiffly straight his back was, his fists clenched at his sides.

“You weren’t planning to tell me, were you,” she didn’t say it like a question. Then she turned accusing eyes on Chris then. “Your idea, no doubt.”

Peter snapped before Chris could open his mouth to reply. “It was a joint decision.”

It had been a good decision too, if the way Stiles was shaking and clinging to him was any indication. Even Chris’ human senses could read the distress and uncertainty coming off the boy clear as day. Stiles was unusually quiet, trying so hard to be still and unnoticeable in front of a strange alpha.

Talia’s arms folded as she scowled at them, the very picture of a disapproving and unimpressed matriarch.

Chris frowned at her. He rubbed Stiles’ arm reassuringly as he spoke, calm and succinct: “We were going to wait till he was settled in.”

She finally seemed to notice Stiles’ state. Talia’s face softened as she focused on the omega. Her arms dropped and her expression turned doting and gentle. She reached out, took a step forward.

Peter growled.

Chris shifted Stiles back, keeping the boy in his arms as he placed himself between his omega and Talia.

And Talia stopped. She stepped back. All the sweetness she’d aimed at the omega evaporated as she returned to frowning at Chris and Peter.

“Back off,” Chris warned her, not caring that she was _family_ and a _werewolf_ and a _Pack Leader_ and absolutely capable of wiping the floor with them for challenging her.

“He’s sensitive at the moment.” Peter explained through clenched teeth.

Chris could only imagine how uncomfortable his partner must be. The instinct to bend to his Pack Alpha clashing with the instinct to prioritize his omega. Chris was glad he didn’t have that particular struggle; he had zero issue with getting between Talia and something she wanted, at least when that something was Stiles.

And Talia knew it.

“Fine,” she huffed, hands on her hips. “At least tell me his name, for crying out loud.”

“Stiles,” Peter and Chris answered as one, tersely.

She nodded once, then leaned sideways, head tilted as her face melted into a warm, sympathetic smile. “Welcome to the family, Stiles.”

Stiles barely lifted his face from Chris’ chest as he mumbled a shaky “Thanks,”

Talia’s smile wilted. She sighed as she straightened and addressed the alphas, “I know you’re both new to this, but I hope by the time you bring him around the pack, you’ve taught him better manners.”

Chris felt Stiles squeeze him tight even as he rolled his eyes. “His manners are fine. He’s having a rough time right now,”

Talia didn’t look convinced. “That’s no excuse. Take it from someone with decades of experience managing omegas, Chris. They need consistent discipline, otherwise you’ll end up with a spoiled brat on your hands.”

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice, sister,” Peter grossed as he clapped a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “But he’s our brat, not yours. Now if you don’t mind, we having more pressing matters to attend to.”

Peter’s hand slid down his back, and Chris felt him grasp the omega’s bicep where it pressed across Chris’ ribs. Together, they led their omega past Talia. They almost reached the door when the woman called out.

“Peter?”

Chris felt his partner groan subvocally before he turned to look over his shoulder. “Talia?”

“We’re having a Pack Run this full moon to celebrate Derek’s graduation. I expect you guys to be there. All of you.”

Chris let go of Stiles with one arm so he could grip Peter’s collar tight. “We’ll see if Stiles is up for it,” he answered.

Then he hurried both of his mates out of there before either werewolf could say another word.

~!~

“The nerve…” Peter grumbled hours later, for the umpteenth time.

“It’s fine.” Stiles sighed, nuzzling his throat. “I’m sure she meant well…”

“It doesn’t make it less rude.” Peter countered. Again. “And uncalled for.”

“There’s a good reason we live so far outside of the main territory,” Chris commented as he carried a bowl of guacamole and a bag of chips to the couch. “And Talia’s meddling in our personal lives is part of it.”

Stiles wiggled around so he was sitting up beside Peter more than laying on him. He accepted the bowl eagerly, and Peter was glad to see the ease to his movements returning. Just as the nurse predicted, Stiles had been shaken and clingy all afternoon and early evening. It was only recently, after hours of cuddling and reassurance, that he was starting to act like himself again, like he was comfortable and confident in his home, with his mates.

It was good. And the cuddling was good. Very good. Especially since Stiles had shyly asked for more skin contact and had spent the better part of the day half naked in one of their laps.

Now, if only Stiles would stop trying to excuse Talia’s behavior, Peter would be having quite an enjoyable evening. Or maybe Peter was the one who needed to stop dwelling on it. It didn’t change the fact that every time Stiles tried sooth his irritation and play peacemaker, Peter couldn’t stop himself from thinking how easily Talia and her ideals might impact his omega.

“She’s still your Pack Alpha,” Stiles pouted down at the food, his brow furrowed in confused thought. “If she’s really all that overbearing, you could move further away and join a different pack, right?”

Peter sighed. He caught Chris’ eye over Stiles’ head and recognized his own resignation mirrored back at him.

“Don’t misunderstand, sweetheart,” Peter kissed Stiles’ temple before admitting: “Talia’s a great Pack Leader. Truly. She cares about us and she’s as fiercely protective and capable as anyone in her position should be. She might have… rather strong opinions about what’s best for us,”

Chris snorted and Peter kicked him playfully. The interaction brought a small burst of happy-contented-warm scent from all of them that made Peter smile.

“But the reality is,” the smile weakened with seriousness as Peter continued, “Talia’s been good to us. She _is_ good to us, where the big things are considered.”

“… What kind of big things?” Stiles looked between them as he snagged a chip from the open bag in Chris’ lap.

“Some packs don’t accept humans,” Chris said, dipping his own chip. “Even the legally and biologically Bonded mates of the wolf in question.”

“And of the ones who do…” Peter sighed, “Talia’s the only one I know of who would willingly accept an Argent into her pack. And she only did it for me.”

Stiles froze, and Peter could practically hear the boy thinking as he stared at Chris.

“My family made their fortune hunting werewolves,” Chris explained, void of inflection. “When the supernatural community went public and governments started cooperating and protecting them, the Argents made themselves the go-to bounty hunters and legal executioners for non-human criminals in the Western world.”

“And they’ve been known to stretch the definition of probable cause to excuse excessive force,” Peter commented snidely. “You can imagine how happy they were when Chris started a relationship with me.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, processing the new information.

Chris agreed in the ensuing silence: “It’s not a legacy that lends itself to peaceful involvement with wolf packs,”

“So you really can’t go to another pack then.” Stiles murmured.

Peter winced at the sorrow and even subtle hints of pity swirling in Stiles’ scent. That certainly wouldn’t do.

“That’s not entirely true.” Peter reassured him, giving him a squeeze. “We could go somewhere the Argent names has no meaning. Asia. Australia, maybe. But we won’t.”

“Because she’s your sister?”

“She is,” Peter agreed, “But she’s also diplomatic and confident enough in her own power that she’s never issued ultimatums. Not to me or any other wolf in the pack. We’re free to make our own decisions without being shunned or brutalized for not doing things her way.”

“The same isn’t true of all Pack Leaders,” Chris added as he handed Stiles the chip bag in favor of pulling the omega’s feet into his lap. “Talia might be pushy and something of an overbearing in-law at times, but that’s honestly the worst of it.”

“She can certainly be exhausting,” Peter commented. “And infuriating.”

“Especially about omegas.”

“Indeed,”

“What do you mean?” Stiles shifted uneasily before stuffing a loaded chip in his mouth. “She doesn’t like us or something?”

“Oh, she _adores_ omegas.” Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. “She just happens to be remarkably closed minded about their abilities and annoyingly outspoken about how they should be cared for.”

Stiles hummed around his mouthful and swallowed. “Conservative, huh?”

“To put it mildly.”

Chris patted Stiles’ ankle and gave the boy a soft smile, “Don’t worry, Stiles. Talia will probably run her mouth and disapprove of how we choose to treat you, but she’s ultimately harmless.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, jostling Stiles. He wasn’t entirely sure if he agreed with that statement, but he and Chris had discussed this particular topic to death over the years, and it safe to say that when it came to Talia, their definitions for ‘ _harmless’_ were rather different.

“The moment she tries bullying you into anything _like a proper omega_ ,” Peter mocked, voice dripping aggravation, “you tell me or Chris. We’ll deal with her.”

Stiles fidgeted, his fingers pinching the edges of a chip to crumbs that fell back into the bag. His scent turned anxious and wistful.

Peter sat up abruptly, to the edge of the couch so he could turn to face Stiles. He took Stiles’ chin in hand and tugged till he had the omega’s full attention, their eyes locked.

“If Chris or I aren’t around,” he said slowly, impressing the gravity of his words on the omega, “And Talia ever tries anything that makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to do it unless it’s a mater of life and death. She’s your Pack Leader. She is _not_ your alpha. Understand?”

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Uh… yeah. I think so?”

Peter wasn’t entirely sure he did. “She’s not allowed to touch you unless you ask her to. Not even a hug, Stiles.”

Stiles paled, eyes wide and alarmed. “She wouldn’t…? I mean, I’m Bonded….”

“Shh, no.” Chris ran his hands over the boy’s shoulders soothingly. “No, Stiles. Talia would never hurt you. But she’s not above using her pheromones or superior strength to handle you when we’re not around. Moving forward, another alpha’s scent won’t be as effective at stabilizing your moods as ours, but it would still help.”

“And you _can_ ask Talia for help,” Peter clarified, “if—and only if—we’re not available, don’t hesitate to ask her or any pack alpha to help you calm down if you need it. But they need your consent, Stiles. It’s important,”

The monstrous side of Peter’s wolf mind trembled with rage at the mere idea of someone else wielding their pheromones against Stiles like that. Peter and Chris had a healthy mate Bond that enabled them to respond to Stiles instantly and accurately without the omega’s verbal consent—a godsend of biology that was necessary at times when omegas weren’t mentally or emotionally capable of recognizing their own struggles—but no other alpha had that with Stiles. No other alpha should dare try it.

But Talia did dare. She considered it her duty, as a Pack Leader and as an alpha, to care for any lone omega in her pack whenever the alpha mate was not around to give said omega what he/she needed. Stiles wasn’t her mate, but he was mated to one of her wolves; he was her responsibility, hers to keep healthy and happy. Talia always did have stalwart ideas on what, exactly, did that for an omega though.

“And no matter what,” Peter stressed, “Talia is never, ever allowed to discipline you. Understand?”

“If she ever tries, you do not need to submit to it,” Chris agreed, voice going hard.

Talia’s mate, her one and only Bonded omega, had responded easily and well to corporal punishment from what Peter remembered. As a result, Talia tended to think all omegas needed it. The idea of anyone, especially his sister, raising a hand to _his omega_ made him see red.

“You _won’t_ submit to it.” Peter corrected, growling. He saw his own eyes spark red, reflected in Stiles’ wide amber eyes, “Understand, omega?”

Stiles nodded, looking shaken.

Peter growled again. His fingers clenched on the boy’s jaw, “You submit to no one but us for discipline. Alright?”

Stiles nodded again, his jaw practically vibrating in Peter’s tight grip. “Right. Yeah.”

Peter kissed him, hard. He just really wanted to drive the point home.

Stiles trembled and whined sweetly against his lips.

With a teasing nip to the boy’s lip, Peter let him go. He sat back in the corner of the couch and pulled the omega onto his lap, arms going around that slender waist like iron manacles.

“My sister’s not the boss of you,” Peter insisted quietly. “She doesn’t get a say.”

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded emphatically, “She’s not my alpha. You are.”

The omega dropped the guacamole to dig his slat-dotted fingers into Peter’s hair. Peter didn’t mind though; he appreciated the comforting gesture for what it was. 

“We are,” Chris agreed softly as he leaned down to kiss the inside of Stiles’ thigh just above the knee.

“We are,” Peter repeated, kissing his nape and squeezing his waist.

Maybe Stiles wasn’t the only one feeling vulnerable just then.

~!~

Stiles wasn’t sure how to feel about the run-in with Talia specifically, but he knew very well how he felt about the afternoon as a whole. It was wretched.

He wasn’t even being melodramatic. It was so _wretched_.

He felt strangely violated and shy, like no medical exam had ever made him feel before. Right up till they’d made it home, he’d been antsy and nervous, and he’d flinched away from the gaze of literally every person they came across, alpha or beta. The ride home had consisted of him cowering in the backseat, head on Peter’s lap as he tried to nuzzle and scent the alpha through his pants with decidedly un-sexy whimpers.

Stiles honestly hadn’t taken much notice of Talia, hadn’t bothered with anything beyond the nasty, nauseatingly discomforted sensation crawling over his skin.

But once that discomfort was soothed enough for Stiles to hear himself think?

He decided pretty damn quick he wasn’t a fan of Talia Hale.

“My alpha,” Stiles murmured as he kissed and nuzzled along Peter’s jawline.

Peter hummed contentedly, his eyes closed as he tilted his head, trusting his omega with the vulnerable flesh and scent glands at his throat. It went a long way toward reassuring Stiles’ inner omega and dispelling more of the lingering unease from the afternoon.

He could do without the tension in Peter’s shoulders and the hard, rigid set of his arms around his waist. Chris sat beside them on the couch, one broad palm kneading Stiles’ thighs and hip constantly while to other remained locked on Stiles’ ankle like a manacle.

Stiles might not have a wolf’s senses, but he was a Bonded omega, and he had no problem reading the anger and flaring possessiveness in his mates. He didn’t like how easily Talia had inspired such a reaction.

The way they held him should have been purely reassuring, something to luxuriate in. Instead, Stiles found it insufficient, like he needed to do more than let _them_ comfort _him_. He needed to fix this. Make them happy.

Make them forget all about Talia’s omega politics and Argent racists.

Stiles had always been pretty good at distraction. Flailing limbs, running mouth, and his stereotypical stench of perpetual low-key arousal had always made him something of a spectacle anyway.

He mouthed Peter’s throat and tried to think sexy thoughts. It was pretty easy, considering how the past week had gone. He _was_ mated to two virile, fit alphas, after all. 

Coincidentally, by the time Peter caught the scent of his slick, Stiles knew exactly what they needed to do. He knew what would make all three of them feel so much better.

“Sweetheart?” Peter pressed smiling lips against his forehead.

“Hmm?” Stiles said, dragging his nails down the back of the alpha’s skull and down his neck.

“I thought you just wanted to cuddle tonight,”

Stiles licked along Peter’s collarbone and smirked. “Yeah. But that was hours ago. Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Maybe, huh?” Chris said quietly.

Stiles want back to sucking quick-healing hickey’s as he felt the human alpha’s hands part his legs. He didn’t squirm to address the promising thrum between his legs, confident Chris would tend to it.

“You’re hard already, but are you wet for us, baby?” 

Stiles squeaked a little as Chris pressing up behind his balls. Almost instantly, the fabric there soaked clear through and his body’s teasing interest to be filled roared to a demand.

Peter chuckled, dark and deliciously. “Yeah, he’s wet for us alright.”

“Drenched,” Chris agreed, rubbing gently,

Stiles bucked into the touch, fingers clenching on Peter’s shoulders. He could feel the alpha’s hard cock beneath him, and a short shift of his leg confirmed Chris was similarly affected.

“My alphas,” Stiles panted, writhing artlessly and hoping they found it sensual rather than silly.

They both growled in appreciative approval. Omega for the win!

Chest heaving and belly tight with anticipation and need, Stiles sat up and reached for Chris. He yanked the alpha into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, wiggling his ass down against Peter.

His alphas groaned and gasped for him, their hands touching every bit of his exposed skin they could reach.

Stiles felt Peter suck on his earlobe and broke the kiss to slide his cheek against Chris’ beard. Breathlessly, he gripped each of them tight, closed his eyes in pleasure and told them what he wanted.

“I want you both in me. Together.”

Peter gasped, a delighted shiver racing through his body.

At the same time, Chris made a quiet, harsh sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His hand on Stiles’ thigh squeezed with bruising force.

“Please,” Stiles moaned, arching his neck into Peter’s mouth even as he pressed his cheek harder into Chris’. “I need it.”

Chris’ hand flexed on his leg and Peter hissed in a breath, but both of them went still. And that… well, that was kind of the opposite of what Stiles was trying to make happen.

Surely, Stiles reasoned, if the doctor said he was fine to take a knot, he should be perfectly fine to take two cocks.

“Please,” he pleaded, tugging at them, “I can take it. I know I can. Please, alphas. My alphas.”

“Fuck,” Chris hissed, dropping his forehead onto Stiles’ shoulder with a shudder.

“Chris?” Peter’s voice was pleading and shaky. “Can we…?”

“Yes!” Stiles insisted, wiggling and nuzzling and pumping out slick and inviting scent like no one’s business. “We can! We so can!”

“Shh, omega,” Peter admonished, patting his hip. “Chris, I know we talked about working him up to this kind of thing, but…”

“I don’t need all that,” Stiles said, bouncing onto Chris’ lap now that he knew where he needed to focus his omega wiles. “I just need you, both of you. Please, Chris? It’ll be so good. I just know it!”

“He’s literally begging us, Chris,” Peter whined.

Chris palmed Stiles’ ass boldly, a cheek filling each hand. Stiles let himself be kissed breathless, till his head was spinning.

“You.” Chris grumbled against his lips, “are dangerous, brat.”

“Say yes,” Stiles demanded, with his words and with the roll of his hips. “Eep!”

Then the world was tilting and Stiles was in the air, his legs clamping closed around Chris’ waist as the alpha stood up.

“Yes,” Chris growled.

“Thank God,” Peter panted, following them up to the bedroom.

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure how, but both he and Peter were completely naked by the time they reached the bed. Chris threw him down, and Stiles sprawled out, gaping as he watched Peter help Chris shed his shirt and pants.

Then there were two gloriously hot, naked and oh-so-hard alphas stalking him across the bed.

“Come here, omega,” Peter commanded, already grasping Stiles’ ankle and yanking him closer.

Stiles gave an eager moan as his legs fell open. His cock flexed on his heaving belly, and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from arching and grabbing at the beds with all the excitement coursing through him.

It had barely been sexual when they fingered him at the doctor’s office, but it had been soothing and right. It had made him feel better.

This was going to make him feel _a thousand times_ better. Probably Chris and Peter too.

“Steady,” Chris warned as he pressed up against Peter’s side and took the wolf’s cock in his thick fist.

Peter groaned, eyes closing in pleasure.

“Please,” Stiles whimpered.

He started to sit up so he could reach for them, his eyes glued to the way Chris’ hand slid slow and firm on Peter’s shaft. He froze though, as Chris caught his eye and gave a short shake of his head.

“Patience,” Chris told him, “We’re not going to rush this and risk hurting you. Lie back down, omega.”

Stiles whined and flopped back down. He jerked his hips, happy to see how hungrily they watched his cock bounce against his abdomen.

“Brat,” Chris chided fondly.

“Our brat,” Peter groaned, nodding as he rocked into Chris’ fist. The hand that held Stiles’ ankle rubbed and clenched absently.

Chris let go of his cock only to drop his hand lower to fondle his balls. He met Stiles’ gaze and winked.

He whispered loudly against Peter’s ear. “Mark him, Peter. Come all over our omega’s pretty cock. He’s so slick for us already, but we’ll can use the extra juice to open him up wide.”

Peter tossed his head back with a loud, quivering groan. “God, Chris.”

“Gotta get him ready for us,” Chris whispered. “So he’ll feel good when he’s wrapped around our cocks.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Peter panted. He impatiently took himself in hand, jacking the flushed, rigid flesh as the other alpha worked his full testicles.

“Come, Peter,” Chris ordered, biting the thick muscle of his shoulder. “Get him good and dirty.”

And Peter did.

Stiles whimpered and writhed as Peter’s spunk splattered all over his groin. His cock jerked as it was bathed in the stuff, his little balls absolutely aching with intense arousal. His hole clenched needily, and if there hadn’t been a puddle of slick before, there certainly was now.

“Please,” Stiles begged. “My alphas!?”

“Shh, baby.” Chris rubbed his inner thigh reassuringly. “We’ll take care of you, don’t worry. We just needed to make sure the werewolf wouldn’t be in danger of knotting you while we tried this.”

Stiles flushed, equal parts terrified and aroused by the thought. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, I don’t think I could handle a knot on top of it all.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter repeated, breathless as he knelt beside the bed and rested his head on Stiles’ lower leg. “You’ll get plenty even without a knot, sweetheart.”

Chris sat down on the mattress beside Stiles’ other foot. He pressed his palm—the one that had jacked Peter partially to orgasm—on the omega’s stomach, thumb barely swiping the mess of semen on his skin. With his other hand, Chris pressed two fingers over his perineum.

Stiles yelped at the sudden pressure, but Chris’ palm on his tummy stopped him from moving far in reaction.

“Patience,” Chris repeated as his fingers slid lower.

“But…” Stiles floundered, “I… I need….”

“I know what you need.”

Two fingers slid into him, straight to the knuckle, and Stiles moaned pathetically. They thrust in and out at a moderate, steady pace. It felt good, even if it avoided his sweet spot.

“There you go,” Peter murmured tiredly, tracing around Stiles’ hole.

Stiles lifted his head just enough to see Peter resting his head on his leg, his grey eyes gleaming as they watched what was happening between his legs, up close and intensely personal. Not long ago, Stiles would have been embarrassed by this set up, by such intimate attention, but now…. Now Stiles wanted to preen.

His hole spasmed, loosening noticeably as a bout of slick gushed out around Chris’ fingers.

The alphas groaned.

“Perfect omega,” Peter kissed his leg as he slid a finger into the welcoming clench beside Chris’ digits.

“Good boy,” Chris praised. “You take us so well.”

Stiles whined and tried and failed to hump into their thrusts, what with the way they had his lower body pinned to the bed. It was simultaneously infuriating and dizzyingly sexy. God. Damn.

They fingered him like that for a bit, perhaps a few long minutes. Both alpha made noises of approval and surprise when Stiles proved ready for more before Peter had even regained enough strength to support his own head.

“Look at you,” Peter whispered heatedly as he nudged his second finger—Stiles’ fourth—inside. “Chris, our boy’s hungry for it. Poor thing wasn’t meant to be wasted on a single alpha.”

Chris made a noise of agreement, the sound deep and sinful. “Good thing he’s ours. He needs us to fill him up, and maybe even that won’t be enough.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groaned, pulling at his hair fitfully as pleasure and anticipation rolled through him, “You’re going to kill me,”

“No,” Peter smirked, “We’re going to keep you around for a long, long time, sweetheart.”

“We’ll keep you safe and pampered,” Chris agreed huskily, “And sated.”

Someone, Stiles couldn’t tell who, began scissoring their fingers then. Stiles gasped as the stretch registered, small and only a little achy. God, but he was so easy for them.

“That’s it, darling,” Peter murmured, rising up to perch on the mattress’ edge. “Open up just a little more,”

The stretch became a little harder, a little achier and more resistant. Both alpha’s were spreading their fingers now, Stiles thought numbly as his breath caught in his throat.

“You’re doing so well,” Chris said, tone amazed.

“So good for us,” Peter agreed.

“Please! Alpha?”

Stiles wasn’t even sure what he was begging for at that moment. He was pretty sure he needed a cock in him like yesterday, and his own neglected cock could definitely use a little attention. He needed to move, squirm, run around, _anything_ , so long as he had an outlet for the swirling excitement and frenetic energy boiling in his groin and gut.

He needed the terrible stretch of his hole to let up. Or maybe he needed more. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he knew he needed _something_.

Then, quite suddenly, he was empty. The shock of it struck him dumb for a moment.

“Come here, baby. I’ve got you.”

Before he knew what was happened, Stiles found himself upright, straddling Chris. The alpha hugged him close, peppering his face with panting kisses as he was lifted and then eased downward.

Chris’ cock slid into him easily, not a lick of resistance.

Stiles trembled. “Oh my God. Oh my God…”

Chris held him tight with one arm and smoothed the hair from his forehead with the other. “Deep breaths, omega. Come on, Stiles, breathe with me.”

It was only so easy to fall into Chris’ rhythm because the alpha was at least as excited as himself. Stiles recognized this distantly, almost absently, as he bore down on the lone, familiar cock inside him and marveled at the loose fit.

They must have stretched him out longer than he’d thought.

Nope. No, they had not, he decided as he felt Peter’s cock press inside a moment later.

“Shit!” Stiles whined, clenching reflexively against the sudden spike of pressure and blunt pain.

“Deep breath, love,” Chris whispered, kissing his cheek.

For one terrifying moment, Stiles thought they hadn’t stretched him enough after all. Then the bulb of Peter’s cockhead popped inside.

“F-fuck.” Peter groaned into his nape as Chris gasped wetly.

There was no tearing pain, no alarming sensations of his body rejecting the current scenario.

What there was, was pressure. Lots of pressure, a hell of a stretch, yes, and fullness that put a thorough knotting to shame. There was stimulation to his prostate that was constant and complete in a way he had no way of grasping.

There was all of that—so much of that—and it was, in a word: _intense_.

And as he felt his alphas move together, reclaiming him in concerted, powerful moves, Stiles grinned. He knew, beyond a shadow of doubt and with every fiber of his being, his omega instincts had saved the day. They were whole, together. They were happy and secure in their mating once again, and he, Stiles Argent-Hale, had made it happen.

This was _exactly_ what they had needed.


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but I'm back. I know the world's gone more crazy than usual lately, but I hope this helps entertain/distract as needed, and I hope you are reading this in safety.   
> Anyway. Here's some world-building and a tiny bit o' drama for ya. We'll get back to the shameless smut latter.

Stiles’ confidence in his new mating did not remain so ironclad by the end of the week, sadly.

“Remind me,” he frowned at his reflection and fussed with the collar of his sweater again, “Why would it be so bad if I didn’t go, again?”

“You’re expected,” Peter said tersely. “By now, it’s not just Talia who would be disappointed. This party might be celebrating my nephew’s academic career, but make no mistake: you, my dear omega, are the big attraction.”

“You know, this thing sounds less and less fun every time you talk about it.”

“Just stick to me like glue,” Chris advised as he exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam. “I’ll help you fend off the Hale hordes, promise.”

Stiles stared at the welcome sight of Chris’ damp, naked body as he toweled his hair dry. “Stick to you, huh? I think I can manage that.”

Chris winked at him.

“Careful, pup.” Peter smirked as he came up from behind to grip the omega’s hips and leer at their reflection in the full length mirror, “If you slick up those clothes now, you’ll be reeking of it the entire evening and the whole pack will know.”

Stiles flushed. “Don’t remind me. Isn’t there supposed to be a social expectation that wolves don’t go around commenting on personal things like that?”

“Of course,” Peter admitted, undeterred, “But such niceties don’t mean much among pack.”

Chris laughed at the aggrieved look on Stiles’ face. “Think of the pack like the dysfunctional, but ultimately well-meaning family they are. You might enjoy them more.”

“Just remember to give as good as you get,” Peter advised with a playful swat to Stiles’ backside.

Stiles kept the advice at the forefront of his mind the entire twenty minute car ride into Sacramento. The Hale Pack home was located on the edge of the county line, bordering a forest with a significant amount of acreage dedicated to pack use. There were other, smaller sections of local wilderness federally protected for werewolves during the nights surrounding the full moon, but the Hale’s forest was only for Pack.

Peter talked about the forest he grew up running around in like one might speak of their best childhood friend. It sounded magical and exciting and breathtakingly beautiful.

Stiles would have been excited to see it, if it weren’t for the nervous frogs hoping around in his guts. No gentle butterflies in his stomach, no sir. He remembered the inconsiderate way Talia had moved for him before they’d even been introduced, and the frogs made a bid for freedom.

He chose not to think about it any further and shoved his nose into the hollow of Chris’ throat as Peter drove them to their inevitable fate. And then the car rocked to a stop.

“Showtime,” Peter grumbled as he cut the engine.

Stiles felt Chris undo both their seatbelts, then strong fingers were carding through his hair.

“Can’t we just stay here?” Stiles mumbled without lifting his face.

“Unfortunately, no,”

There was a smile to his voice, a subtle one, and a few of Stiles’ frogs morphed into butterflies as he realized he could picture the exact expression that matched the alpha’s tone. His alpha’s tone, that is. Heh.

“Don’t worry,” Chris whispered, “I’ll protect you.”

Stiles lifted his head at the serious tone. Sure enough, there was no mockery in Chris’ express, only fondness and sympathy.

“I just don’t want to disappoint anyone,” Stiles whispered back.

“Just be yourself.” Chris kissed him, and cupped the back of his neck to hold him firmly. “And remember that the only people who’s opinion matters are Peter and myself. If Talia or anyone else has a problem with you, they can fuck off.”

“You can tell them so yourself,” Peter tacked on as he opened the door behind Stiles. “Or you can let us do it. Either way, they’ll get the message,”

He held out his hand and, with Chris’ encouragement, Stiles let the werewolf pull him from the car.

He had about two seconds to breath in the remarkably fresh air and admire the two story mansion masquerading as ultra-modern log cabin. Then the wolves descended. Literally.

“Oh my GAWD!!!”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me—”

“Look at him! He’s adorable!”

“I thought it was a joke!?”

Stiles backed up against the car and tried to yank Peter in front of him by the back of his shirt, as a swarm of strangers crowded them. But there were unfamiliar hands touching his arms, his face, and a chorus of unknown voices shouting in his ear. His twitchy fingers lost their grip, and Peter was just… gone.

Holy shit, but Stiles couldn’t breathe.

“Enough!” Peter roared.

A body went flying and he was crushed against the car as Peter smothered him. Well. Not smothered, exactly. Yes, Stiles’ face was smushed to a rock-solid chest and there was fabric in his mouth, but strangely enough, his compromised airways found this the ideal moment to start operating again. He could breathe.

“Back the fuck up,” Chris hollered.

“But—”

“No,”

“Chri—”

“Back. Up. Erica. I’m not asking.”

“Is he okay?”

“What the hell’s wrong with him anyway?”

“Shut up, Cora, my god.”

This was just stellar, Stiles thought numbly as he clung to Peter’s shoulders. Really. He was making such a great first impression. Give as good as he got, sure, but he couldn’t recall the proper steps for inducing an anxiety attack on a pack of werewolves. Fuck.

“You should know better,” Stiles had never heard Chris so cold, “I don’t even expect this kind of behavior for pups.”

Then Chris’ hands were blanketing his own where he fisted Peter’s shirt. Peter himself was rubbing his sides, kneading along Stiles’ ribs and hips soothingly.

“Alright, Stiles,” Chris’ voice was remarkable steady and calm as he squeezed the boy’s wrists. “You’re alright. We’ve got you, just like I promised.”

Stiles nodded and shakily lifted his face from Peter’s chest. The werewolf didn’t give him any room, kept their bodies flush and pinned to the vehicle, but Stiles could breathe, and he could meet Chris’ solid gaze over Peter’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he responded softly, “I’m alright.”

There were two people still out on the dirt driveway when Peter let him support his own weight fully. He recognized Talia at first glance, her dark hair and grey eyes so like her brother’s. The woman beside her was younger, her dark hair highlighted with gold, but otherwise she could have been a carbon copy of Talia.

Well. She could have been Talia, if Talia had ever been soft and sweet and sporting a baby-bump like a picture-perfect omega.

“Laura?” Peter said, mildly surprised and rather fond, as he hugged Stiles’ waist with one arm.

The young woman grinned. “Hi, Peter. Hi, Chris,” then her smiling eyes found Stiles, “And hi, Stiles. Welcome to the Pack.”

“Yes!” Talia said with far more exuberance, stepping forward. “Welcome! I’m so sorry about the others, that was so uncalled for. It’s no wonder you were overwhelmed, honey—”

“No pet names, please.” Stiles cleared his throat as she blinked at him. “I uh… I’d rather keep that a mate-privilege, you know,”

“I do,” Laura agreed, winking behind her mother’s back.

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by—” Talia began, chuckling.

“So Laura,” Chris set his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and effectively urged him and Peter forward, “What brings you back to Sacramento?”

“Yes, do tell us how you and your darling alpha have been,” Peter continued, squeezing Stiles’ waist reassuringly.

“Oh, right! I forgot to tell you: Braeden’s overseeing a Supernatural Defense Training program with the local Police precincts for a couple weeks,”

Without missing a beat, Laura turned as they reached her and fell into step just ahead of Chris. Talia huffed in dissatisfaction and trailed behind them, but Laura kept talking as she hadn’t noticed. Stiles decided he liked Peter’s eldest niece.

“We figured, since I have such good rapport with the local Pack,” she continued cheekily, “it was a good opportunity for me to travel with her before the baby comes. I won’t be able to cart an infant around the country as her job demands, after all.”

“Ah, so you’re ending up a house-omega after all, staying home and minding the pups,” Peter teased.

Laura rolled her eyes.

Stiles laughed nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Each of his alphas gave him a reassuring squeeze, and it was disconcerting, how exactly alike the gesture was executed by two noticeably different grips. It was distracting, and Stiles almost missed Peter’s reply.

“Of course not, sweetheart. But Laura has _ambitions_ ,” he said the word with a delightfully scandalized affect that made Laura grin.

“Good God,” Talia groaned, “You’re not still working, Laura? Surely, you won’t have the time now that you’re a mother,”

“Didn’t you run a pack and hold down a day job while you raised five kids?” Chris asked, seemingly mild and curious.

Talia frowned at him nonetheless. “Yes. Because I had an omega at home. That’s how it works.”

“Which is also why I’m not having five children.” Laura said, catching Stiles’ eye.

He knew a sympathetic soul when he saw one. He smiled and agreed. “For sure. Besides, I’m pretty sure one mini-me will be hectic enough. Dad always said I was like hell on wheels as a kid, and that was before we knew I was omega and had anxiety and ADHD.”

Laura’s grin was genuine as she shot Peter a look and said: “Awesome,”

“Hardly,” Talia interrupted. “Stiles, don’t put too much stock in Laura’s words. This is her first, and I promise, after knowing what it is to be a mother, you’ll want several. Both of you will.” She looked between the two omegas pointedly.

“We don’t want more than one,” Chris reminded her, “So it’s a moot point,”

Talia looked at Stiles as if he would argue her case, “I’m trusting you to bring them around to the idea when the time comes,”

“Uh….?” Stiles glanced at Peter.

The alpha sighed. “Perhaps it’s time you met the overexuberant puppies properly,”

“Agreed,” Chris said stiffly.

And they led Stiles away before Talia could get another word in.

~!~

Stepping onto the back porch was like walking into a dream. Peter was transported back in time, to the days when Talia was merely annoying and Peter could come and go at his leisure, when his nieces and nephews were adorable and believed every word he said. Those were good days.

Back then, he owned the grill on Full Moon nights. Not The young punk who was going to overcook all the burgers.

“Stiles,” Peter said grandly, “Meet Vernon, one of the slightly more tolerable betas,”

The guy barely glanced up from the grill with a nearly disinterested nod to Stiles. “Hey. Call me Boyd,”

“Hi. Yeah, so… I’m Stiles,”

Lord have mercy, but his omega was adorable in his nervousness. Peter kissed his temple and released his waist with a firm pat to his butt. The omega squeaked and blushed, and Peter inwardly cheered.

“Relax, sweetheart. How about a burger? Move it, pup, I’m taking over.”

Boyd frowned, and for half a second Peter wondered if he’d refuse. He should have known better. Boyd was dominant for a beta, but he was neither stupid nor ambitious enough to pick a fight with an alpha, yet alone Talia’s brother and (technically) Second in Command.

With a shrug, Boyd handed over the tongs.

Peter salvaged the first few patties from passing medium-well to anything more unforgivable and immediately threw a fresh one on for Stiles. He’d see his omega fed before he set about his rare demonstration of care for the pack.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Boyd fold his arms and give Stiles a casual once over. “You met Erica?”

“Uh…. Nope. I think she might have groped me on the front lawn though…”

“Yeah. That sounds like her.”

“So this is him?”

Stiles stiffened and practically plastered himself to Chris’ side as another unfamiliar alpha approached.

“Stiles,” Peter said casually, “meet my nephew Derek.”

“Congratulations, kid,” Chris said with genuine warmth.

Peter didn’t try to understand the easy friendship between Chris and their nephew. By the time Chris was a regular presence at Peter’s side every pack meeting, Derek had been in high school with some serious aggression issues and a hatred for Argent hunters that was intense, even by Peter’s standards. And then one day Peter came home to find Chris’ truck in the driveway and the house empty. Hours later, he found Chris and Derek walking home through the woods, shooting the shit like bosom pals.

To this day, all Chris would tell him was that he’d given Derek the chance to “clear the air,” and now things “made sense.” From then on, they got along. And that was that.

“Thanks, man,” Derek said without looking away from Stiles.

Stiles shifted unsteadily. “Yeah. Um, Congrats? College, that’s quite the accomplishment, which, duh, kinda goes without saying, doesn’t it. Hence the whole party. Yeah. So…Hi, by the way. I’m Stiles.”

God, Peter could just eat him up.

Instead, he glared at Derek to get the guy to stop scowling silently at his omega. Poor Stiles didn’t know that the expression was Derek’s Resting Bitch Face; he might take it personally.

It was possible he could have better prepared Stiles for meeting the pack. To be fair, he hadn’t intended it to happen so soon.

Derek looked to Chris, deadpan. “He’s skinny,”

“Hey!” Stiles squeaked, and shed some nerves, “ _He_ is right here, buddy,” 

Derek looked down his nose at the omega, brow arched and unimpressed.

Stiles wilted, but only a little. “And I’m not skinny,” he lied, “I’m… slender. Slim, even.”

Derek snorted in amusement, not that Stiles could tell.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” said the bouncing ball of blonde curls. She peered around Boyd with a flirtatious smile and held out her hand. “I’m Erica. Say the word, and I’ll whisk you away from these dumb brute alphas.”

“Down, girl,” Peter chided.

“Erica and Boyd are happily mated,” Chris told Stiles, “She just enjoys making people uncomfortable.”

“That’s a lie,” Erica argued, winking at Stiles, “I enjoy flirting. It’s fun.”

“The sooner you stop reacting, the sooner she’ll stop,” Boyd advised, unconcerned.

“I make no promises,”

“Congratulations, _bro_ ,” a dark skinned, scarred woman said sarcastically as she approached and shoved a messily wrapped package into Derek’s gut.

Peter did a doubletake. He almost didn’t recognize her. The scars on her throat and jaw were so vivid and tugged the corner of her mouth down just enough to be noticeable.

“Why, Braeden,” Peter gaped dramatically, “I had no idea you were so dedicated to that slasher aesthetic of yours.”

She gave an unamused smile and responded in kind. “And I had no idea you had the balls to take a second mate, yet alone an omega half your age at that. That screams insecurity and performance issues, Peter. Tell me honestly,” she directed to Chris, expression grave, “The omega’s for you, isn’t he?”

Chris snorted as Stiles spluttered.

Peter snagged Stiles’ belt loop and gave a little tug. It was delightful how easily the boy tipped off balance and wiggled back upright.

“Don’t mind Braeden, sweetheart. She’s just teasing.”

“Stiles, this is Laura’s alpha, Braeden.”

“Right! The one that’s here working with the police?”

“That’s me.” Braeden crossed her arms and scrutinized the omega from head to toe.

Derek elbowed her in the side before copying her stance, similarly studying the omega.

“Skinny,” Braeden commented without feeling.

“Hmm,” Derek agreed.

Braeden nodded to herself, eyes rising to Stiles’ face. “Cute, though.”

“Hmm,” Derek agreed.

Chris laughed. “Be nice, guys. Stiles, I’m sure this doesn’t come as a shock to you, but the Hale Pack and associated Bounty Hunters are a complete set of smartassed jerks.”

Stiles perked up instantly. “Wait up. Bounty hunter? Like, for real?”

And that, as they say, was that.

By the time Peter had plated up a perfectly prepared burger and chips, Stiles was too invested in conversation to spar a thought for nerves. He threw together a second plat for Chris, ensuring the human alpha was comfortably stationed at their boy’s side. Then and only then did Peter give himself permission to relax and enjoy being surrounded by Pack.

~!~

Chris didn’t dislike the Pack. He didn’t dislike Full Moons either. But the Pack on a Full Moon was a lot to handle. It was always so strangely… _emotional_.

“Wow,” Stiles stared into the trees, leaning his full weight on the porch railing. “They’re really… they’re just off. They were just here, and now: gone.”

“Like hounds out of hell,” Braeden agreed before tossing back the last of her beer.

Chris rubbed Stiles’ back, “The intimacy and energy of the pack is visceral, even to humans. It’s easy to get caught up in it,”

“You can’t help it,” Braeden added with a shrug as she leaned on the railing beside the omega. “Even after years of bringing Laura to Pack runs and Full Moon gatherings, I can’t.”

“But…,” Chris heart ached for the upset omega. “But we’re not wolves. We can’t go with them.”

“No,” Chris sighed, “We can’t.”

“Ain’t it a bitch,” Braeden agreed. She popped the cap off another beer, “In a minute, we’ll hear them howl. They always howl when the Pack hunts together,”

Stiles turned those beautiful big eyes on Chris hopefully. “And Peter?”

Chris couldn’t help himself; he kissed him soundly. It wasn’t indecent or overly long, but Stiles gasped, breathless and sweet, just the same.

“We won’t be able to pick him out,” Chris admitted as he wiped saliva from Stiles’ lip. “But we’ll know just the same,”

“Know what?”

“That he’s howling for us.” Chris answered simply.

Stiles frowned, his head tilted in thought.

Chris took a deep, cleansing breath, and told Stiles what he’d wished someone had told him on his first Full Moon with the Pack:

“We might not be wolves, but we are Pack. More than that, we’re _his_.”

He cupped Stiles’ face tenderly and willed him not to feel as lonely as Chris himself felt the first time he’d fully realized there was a major part of Peter’s life he had no part in.

“No matter how lost he is in the pack as a whole, he will always come back to us.”

Stiles hugged himself, and Chris hated the way his eyes watered. “Does he know what it’s like? When he leaves you behind?”

Chris shrugged. “As much as he’s able to, I think,”

He’d long since stopped wondering if Peter attended fewer and fewer Pack events over the years because of him. Maybe it was Talia that pushed him to the fringes of the territory as well as pack life. Maybe Chris was still fooling himself.

“Laura doesn’t know,” Braeden commented as the silence dragged.

They both turned to see her staring at the trees, expression distant. She took another drink before looking at Stiles.

“I’m her alpha. It’s my job to be strong for her, and I’m glad to do it,” Her eyes flicked to Chris before returning to Stiles, “But I wouldn’t want my omega experiencing this on the regular.”

As if by magic, she produced two more bottles and knocked the caps off against the porch railing. Wordlessly, she offered them.

If Peter were there, Chris had no doubt he’d snatch the one from Stiles’ hand with a firm reminder that alcohol could had detrimental effects on an eighteen-year-old’s brain. But Peter wasn’t there, and that was sort of Braeden’s point.

Chris held his bottle up so Stiles could clink them together with a tearful, if a little sly, smile.

“To being human in a wolfpack!” Stiles declared.

Braeden raised her glass with an indulgent snort. “To being human,”

Chris hugged his omega tight and kissed his temple before reciting: “To being human,”

The wolves raised their voices then, and it was beautiful and heartbreaking.


	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAAAAACK!!!!

The second week with an omega in the house was far less eventful. In light of the particular combination of Stiles’ newly mated hormones settling, the associated paperwork, and Talia and the pack being, well… themselves, the Argent-Hale household unanimously decided to put any honeymooning plans off for another day. So they stayed home.

Chris couldn’t say he minded.

“This,” he panted, head rolling along the back of the couch, “This… must… be h-heaven.”

Stiles laughed, or at least it felt like he laughed. Chris had to deduce as much, seeing as the boy’s mouth was so completely full of his cock. Half-heartedly, Chris stretched his arm across the couch to swat Stiles’ naked ass where the brat was spread out beside him. The omega gasped and ended up sucking down another inch.

Chris moaned. “God, your mouth,”

Kneeling on the floor with Chris’ leg over his shoulder, Peter lifted his head expectantly. “Who’s mouth, exactly?”

“Don’t be cute,” Chris growled, getting a fist in Peter’s hair. “Get back down there.”

Peter’s laugh was low and sexy and perfectly discernable as he let Chris shove his face where he wanted it. That wonderful, talented mouth paused only long enough to nip gently at his achingly full balls. Then Peter’s tongue was back inside him, spearing past his rim with one capable finger in a near perfect counter rhythm to Stiles’ bobbing mouth.

“Yessss!” He hissed, every muscle tight and expectant as the pleasure mounted. He was so close. So. So. Close.

Peter pulled back a little, “Hang in there, lover,” and he slid a second finger inside, spitting obscenely as he worked him open.

Chris’ foot twitched. “Dammit, Peter.”

“Wait!” Stiles gurgled around his mouthful. He gave Chris’ cock two powerful, glorious sucks, before popping off. The omega scrambled, nearly kneeing Peter’s head in his haste to straddle Chris’ hips.

Chris groaned like he was dying as Stiles sat.

“Oh, fuck!” The omega gasped, lithe body undulating deliciously.

He sank down heavily, no resistance and no hesitation. All there was, was wet, tight heat and Stiles’ body squeezing his cock so perfectly.

Then Peter found his prostate, and it was over before Chris could think about getting a single thrust done.

Stiles whined, only a little disappointed as he rolled his hips to enjoy the fullness as Chris emptied into him. There was no knot, not this time, but Peter’s devious fingers were doing a fine job of prolonging the orgasm anyway. Chris’ cock gave an extra kick inside their omega, then he went boneless.

Groaning, he grabbed Stiles’ hips to force them still. “Enough. Ugh. You’re going to kill me,”

“They do call it ‘the little death’ for a reason,” Peter smirked around Stiles’ side, kissing the omega’s lower back as he freed his fingers from Chris’ hole.

Chris could only grunt in reply, utterly spent.

“Come here, sweetheart,”

Chris groaned unhappily as Stiles’ body was unceremoniously snatched off him. His cock was immediately cold and lonely, and he had half a mind to ask for the omega’s mouth again. He missed the chance though, because when he turned his head, he found his mates were already preoccupied.

And far be it for him to interrupt them.

Stiles lay on the couch at an angle, his head bent back over the edge of the seat so Peter could feed him his cock. Peter’s own mouth fell open wide, eyes rolling into the back of his head, as he slid deep. Chris saw Stiles’ throat bulge a little, and his spent cock gave a valiant twitch of interest.

“Good boy,” Peter praised, husky and dark as he rocked slightly.

He didn’t push far, and not too hard, but their omega had a hell of a mouth on him. Stiles whined and made to take more, but Peter gripped his hair tight and stilled him. A good two-thirds of his cock was lodged in the boy’s mouth and throat.

“Slowly,” Peter chided, breathless.

Chris watched avidly as Peter gave a few shallow, glacial thrusts. They could see the thin skin of Stiles’ neck stretch and warp as he worked Peter’s cock in and out of his throat. Glancing up, Chris admired the absolutely euphoric expression on Peter’s face and wondered what it must feel like.

“Amazing, baby,” Chris encouraged as Peter gaped down at the boy.

One of Stiles’ legs was partially draped over his knee, so Chris didn’t even need to stretch to drag his nails up the inside of Stiles’ thigh. The omega was sopping wet, his cock red and perfectly hard as it wagged in the air excitedly. Chris’ fingers swiped up some slick along the way, then used it to glide his palm down the omega’s shaft.

Stiles made a muffled noise, his cock and hole leaking profusely.

“Shit,” Peter panted.

The werewolf maintained control with his hold on the omega’s hair, but his free hand came down to pluck at one pert nipple. The omega jerked in delight, nearly surprising Peter into feeding him another inch. Stiles’ hands boldly grabbed onto Peter’s ass, and both alphas had to laugh.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you, baby,” Chris chuckled fondly.

Stiles gurgled his agreement, releasing Peter’s ass just long enough to wave a thumb’s up signal.

Lightening-quick, Peter gripped the raised wrist with a growl.

Stiles went still, his thighs trembling with anticipation.

Across the boy’s body, Peter caught Chris’ eye and alpha-red bled into his own as he suggested gruffly: “Keys,”

“Yeah,” Chris agreed. He gave Stiles’ balls a gentle pat that made him squeak before sliding free of the couch. He wasn’t werewolf-fast, but it was only a mater of seconds before he was back and pressing his set of car and house keys into Stiles’ trapped palm.

“Remember what to do with this?” Peter prompted.

Immediately, Stiles adjusted his grip and latched onto the keys like a lifeline. His moan was strangled but enthusiastic.

“Good boy,” Chris murmured, pulling Stiles’ leg back over his lap.

It was a great view, the omega’s legs splayed in front of him, a light sheen of sweat and blush sweeping down his slender body. He was fairly vibrating with excitement, because of course he was.

By that point, the only person who might know what Stiles’ quick mouth was capable of better than Chris and Peter was Stiles himself. In the days since his Heat, Stiles’ had put his clever mouth and mind to the test where his new mates were concerned, in multiple and surprising ways indeed. The conversation and witty banter was almost as wonderful as the oral fixation.

Almost.

With the omega’s hand secure and steady around the keys, Peter began fucking his throat properly.

It was impossible for Chris to tell which of his lovers was enjoying himself more.

“Fuuuck!” Peter growled through fangs as he threw his hips forward.

The obscene, wet sound of his cock sliding between bruised lips sent tendrils of aching, phantom pleasure up Chris’ spine. He watched Stiles’ throat bulge and shift impossibly with the sex, and for the umpteenth time that week, Chris concluded that Viagra had nothing on the potency of having a young, fertile omega around.

Before his brain could catch up with his hand, Chris found himself fingering Stiles’ hole open like he hadn’t just used it minutes before. The omega whined, slick and cum gushing around Chris’s fingers.

Chris whispered hotly, “Greedy, greedy boy,”

Stiles wasn’t the only one.

He slid off the couch, cock aching with a half-hearted attempt to harden again. Chris’ knees hit the floor and he brought Stiles’ foot with him, effectively spreading the omega wide. He pinned Stiles in place with a hand on his belly, keeping him safely positioned as Peter continued using his mouth.

Stiles whined around Peter’s flesh, but his fingers remained locked around the keys.

That was all the permission Chris needed, and he bent his head to get a thorough taste of the mess they’d made of his boy’s hole.

It was over fast, just as Chris knew it would be. Stiles was miraculously easy to push over the edge when he’d been swamped in pheromones and alpha sex for so long, and even he couldn’t take that kind of brutal face-fucking indefinitely. Peter came down his throat with a roar that made the windows shake and all it took was a swirl of Chris’ tongue to finish it.

Afterword, the three of them lay in a panting, sweaty heap on the couch. Chris was half-hard again, but found himself and his lovers too content to bother with it.

“Nap time?” Stiles suggested as he finally managed to fill his lungs fully.

Chris kissed their boy’s hip with a soft hum of agreement as he felt Peter’s palm lazily caress his shoulder. Chris turned his head to place a second kiss on his mate’s wrist.

“…Is that a yes?” Stiles wiggled between them lazily. “Because I’m really hoping that was a yes,”

“Yes,” Peter huffed, but it came out less irritated and more of a purr.

“Oh, good. That’s really, really good,”

“Shush, brat,”

“Hmm. Yes, alpha.”

“… Brat.”

Chris chuckled softly at them and knew he had never been happier in his life.

~!~

Peter woke over an hour later to the smooth rumble of an unfamiliar vehicle.

“Chris?” he whispered, nudging the other alpha with his foot.

The unknown car rolled to a stop right out front, and the sound of the engine idling made his animal mind perk up to full wakefulness.

“Hey,” Peter spoke louder as he sat up, jostling Stiles and making the boy grumble as he rolled over. Peter had to reach over him anyway to grip Chris’ arm and shake him. “Christopher,”

“Hmm?”

“Are you supposed to meet any clients today?”

“No.”

The car was a gentle thrum in the background of a single, steady heartbeat, but there was no sound of movement. No one was walking up the front steps.

Peter frowned. He gently urged Stiles completely off his lap and Chris instinctively welcomed the omega fully into the safety of his arms as they snuggled closer. Peter stroked his hands through both heads of hair before leaving the couch.

“Peter?” Chris mumbled, blinking after him as Peter made for the front window, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a car—”

The driver’s heartbeat skipped. Just barely. Then the gears shifted and the vehicle moved away smoothly back down the road.

“What is it?” Chris was alert and grave as he came to his side, his hand at the small of Peter’s back.

Peter rolled his shoulders and sighed. “Nothing. Just a car. Probably someone got lost.”

It wasn’t unheard off. This far away from the city proper, they didn’t get much traffic, so the occasional directionless traveler was something Peter’s wolf was likely to notice. And while Peter might not be a lone wolf, easily susceptible to the paranoia associated with being without a pack, the distance from the other Hale wolves _did_ tend to put his defensive instincts on a hair trigger at times.

“You’re sure?” Chris rubbed his back.

“Not entirely,”

Almost as one, they turned toward the couch. Stiles lay where they’d left him, naked and beautiful and utterly unconcerned as he slept. He’d wedged himself against the back corner of the couch, hugging one of the larger cushions with his face happily smushed into it. Peter recognized it as the one he’d been lying on.

A new thought hit him then, and Peter groaned.

“Love,” Chris griped his waist with both hands, “talk to me,”

“I think… we might need to sell the house.”

Chris blinked at him, surprised. “… I… why?”

Peter rubbed a hand over his chin and gazed at Stiles with a wince. “I might just be waking up wrong,” he admitted reluctantly, “But it’s also distinctly possible having an omega is making this old wolf jump at shadows.”

Chris released his waist to cross his arms over his chest. When Peter checked, he found his mate frowning in thought at the omega, a curious tilt to his head. He was so still and serious, not just impressively possessed and handsome, but imposing in a way Peter so rarely noticed in human alphas.

Then again, Peter had known the first time he saw Chris that he was at least as dangerous as any wolf.

“You still trust me?”

Everything about Chris softened as he met his eye. “Of course,”

“And you love me?”

“Always,”

“And I, you,” Peter cupped his face with his palm warmly, “I trust you to notice if I start slipping, Argent.”

Chris scowled. “Peter. We are not having this conversation—”—”

“Just in case—”

“Then what was the fucking point of staying here?” Chris hissed, taking an aggressive step forward. “I told you from the get-go, the only way we were doing this was if we took every feasible step to ensure you never turned feral and ended up on a Hunter’s radar.”

“I know!’ Peter growled, gripping Chris’ wrist as he shot a look at their sleeping omega. He continued more quietly. “I know, Christopher. And just like the day I mated you, I stand by my decision to stay in the Pack. All I’m saying is… maybe we need to move a little _closer_ to them. Not further away.”

Chris’ eyes shot over to Stiles again, and Peter thought maybe he understood. He couldn’t risk the possibility that he didn’t though.

“It’s different than it was with you,” Peter spoke softly as he stepped closer, pressing his forehead and chest to Chris’. “Every part of me wants to stay by your side and face the world with you head-on. But Stiles… as a man, but especially as a wolf, I need to…” he sighed, “I don’t know. He’s not a child, I don’t think of him like that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s so vulnerable and precious—”

“You need to protect him,”

“Yes.”

Chris nuzzled closer and then they were holding one another tight. Peter buried his face in Chris’ neck, the human’s hand holding him there encouragingly by his nape. Their scents mingled, just the two of them, in a way that was long familiar and reassuring.

“I understand,” Chris whispered, gripping him tight.

“I didn’t expect this,” Peter admitted shamefully. “I didn’t think he’d affect me so strongly. Not so fast.”

“ _The wolf can be smarter than the man_ ,” Chris quoted mockingly. He gave Peter a solid squeeze before lifting his head to make eye contact, caressing Peter’s face, “I get it. I’m half in love with him already too, and I don’t even have the animal biology and instincts influencing me.”

Peter snickered sardonically. “Why, Christopher, you’re sounding positively romantic lately.”

He shrugged with a careful half-smile. “Like you said… Stiles changed things.”

They both sobered quickly. Silence fell, and while it wasn’t unbearably tense, it was expectant. 

“If you really think you’re loosing control,” Chris said composedly, “Then we’ll do whatever it takes to restore it. I won’t risk my family getting a Bounty on you, Peter.”

“I know,” Peter nodded, then gave a heavy sigh. “Even if it means cohabitating with my sister more than is generally comfortable.”

“Yeah. Better safe than sorry.”

~!~

“Two more days.”

“How about two more _weeks_?”

“Yes, with all this time off I have accrued,” Braeden held up her empty hands pointedly, wagging her fingers.

Stiles scoffed. “I know for a fact that you have at least thirty days paid leave stored up. And I have a very reliable source, or did you forget, I know your mate—”

“And did you forget we have a baby on the way? I need those days for paternity leave.”

“And you of all people!” Stile insisted, “should know better than to underestimate a pair of omegas with a bond forged in the fires of camaraderie and a shared agenda.”

Braeden cackled, tossing her hair as she turned wide-eyes on Chris. “Do you hear this shit?”

“And bitterness!” Stiles added, undaunted. “A vast, yet ever-growing shared bitterness.”

“Somehow,” Braeden eyed him, considering. “I don’t think you really need Laura to back whatever petty revenge you’re planning.”

“It’s not petty revenge,” he said seriously. “It’s called making a stand. Talia may be the Hale Alpha, but she ain’t my alpha.”

Chris made a sympathetic noise, “She really did cross a line, asking Deaton for their fertility test results like that…”

“Damn right, she did!”

Stiles flushed just from remembering Talia’s reaction when she’d learned Peter and Chris had limited her access to his medical information. She had raced over the their house in a fit, only to learn Stiles was on birth control and they were actively avoiding pups for the time being. Stiles hadn’t been impressed by the attempted breach in privacy nor in Talia’s assumed entitlement, but it hadn’t been as hurtful as her never even once addressing him, the omega in question, over the matter. Needless to say, the encounter had not gone well.

So Chris was helping him avoid Talia again. Sort of.

“She does realize Laura’s no longer in her pack, right?” Braeden frowned thoughtfully. “I mean, legally speaking, I guess I can see why she thought she had a right to Stiles’ info, but not Laura’s…”

Chris shrugged, “Yeah, but she’s her daughter!”

“So what!?” Stiles screeched.

Chris put his hands up defensively. “I know. It doesn’t make it right, but from Talia’s perspective… I imagine there’s a feeling of relevance and responsibility.”

“Ownership, you mean,” Stiles countered.

“That’s some misogynistic bullshit, right there,” Braeden agreed.

“Exactly!” Stiles cheered, leaning into her, “Enough is enough! But, one lonely omega cannot enact a revolution on his own! Braeden, I need Laura! I _need_ her! Just stick around for a little while longer, I’m begging you,”

The alpha laughed again and nudged her glass toward him. “I’m not buying what you’re selling, omega, but feel free to exercise those wiles in the direction of a refill.”

Stiles tapped his fingers on the glass dubiously. “So that’s it, huh? No appealing to higher morals, but pure old extortion? I’m honestly disappointed in you,”

“You’re cute,” she mocked, then to Chris said: “It’s been what, two weeks, three total?”

“Eighteen days to be exact,” Chris said, shooting Stiles a wink that made the omega’s insides quiver.

“Only if you’re counting from the day we left the Halfway House,” Stiles reminded as he snagged Chris’ glass as well and carried them to the Hale kitchen’s counter. “By my count, it’s only been thirteen days since we Bonded and they’ve made an honest omega out of me. Less then that technically, since it took a couple days to get in with Deaton and update the paperwork—”

Chris snorted, “Details,”

“Pertinent details,”

“So mouthy!” Braeden jeered, nudging Chris good naturedly, “I love it,”

“Oh,” Chris wagged his eyebrows at her, “You have _no_ idea…”

Stiles rolled his eyes as he set about mixing a second round of mojitos for the humans currently in residence. In the past few days, he’d become very familiar with Braeden’s and Derek’s particular brand of humor and how it shaped their relationship with his alphas. While he was initially put off by the blatant taunting, he now recognized it for the familial teasing it was. It helped that no mater how sexist Braeden’s comments might seem, Laura’s attitude and unshakable respect proved there was no true malice behind it.

“I don’t want to know,” Derek interjected as he strolled into the room.

Without missing a beat, Stiles propped a hand on his hip and fluttered his eyelashes at his mate’s nephew. “Don’t lie. You wish you knew,”

Derek glared down his long nose at him, unimpressed and mildly annoyed. As always. In the past week or so, Stiles had yet to force him into any other facial expression, and he’d been trying, much to Peter’s and Laura’s amusement.

Stiles smiled even wider, till his cheeks hurt, and fluttered his eyelashes harder.

“Move.”

“Oh, don’t be such a sourwolf,”

Stiles dropped the act and let the guy at the fridge. Trying to tease a reaction from Derek was only half as much fun when Peter wasn’t around to get jokingly possessive and handsy with him. That, surprisingly, was the only time Derek ever deigned to blush.

For the past five days straight, they had been coming over to the Pack House for at least one meal. It was a complete one-eighty from the avoidance of the Pack that marked the very beginning of their relationship. Peter claimed it was because Laura was back for a visit, but Stiles noticed Peter seemed to be spending more time with his sister than his visiting niece. Hell, Stiles was seeing more of Laura than Peter was currently.

Speaking of…

“No fair!” Laura whined, sliding onto the dining bench beside Stiles and perching her chin on his shoulder as she pouted at his drink, “I want one,”

Stiles shielded his illegal beverage with both hands, hunching over it. “Mine. Besides: preggo equals no beuno.”

“Love your priorities, babe,” She pinched his side, making him jump, before snuggling back against him.

It was another thing Stiles was slowly growing accustomed too: the casual touching. Scenting, apparently. The more time they were spending around the pack, the more comforting and less unnerving it became, though the betas were careful not to crowd him again. After only a few days though, Stiles was coming to expect the casual contact. Even Derek petted his hair every now and then as he passed.

Then there was Laura.

Omegas in general were pretty tactile, and wolves even more so, as Stiles had learned at the Halfway House. Laura, however, wasn’t just an omega, or even just a wolf; she was a _pregnant_ omega wolf. The fully-monty of hormonal clinginess personified. And Stiles was the first omega she’d really been around since her own days at the local Halfway House. She was almost obsessively cuddly with him now, to the point she was more inclined to hang off his arm than her own mate’s.

Stiles wanted to be annoyed by it, really, but damn his little omega heart, he soaked up the affection like a sponge.

Laura rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh, and Stiles found himself abandoning his drink so he could sigh with her and lean his cheek on her crown. She really was damn comfortable.

“For fuck’s sake, Talia!” Peter’s voice roared throughout the house.

Chris sighed.

“Do they usually argue this much?” Braeden asked, eyes darting between Chris and Derek.

The two male alphas shared a dark look, full of understanding that went way over Stiles’ head.

Somewhere in the house, there was a crash and something glass shattered. The sound of angry alpha voice echoed through the walls.

As one, the omegas stiffened in alarm. Stiles reached down and gripped Laura’s thigh with white knuckles, even as she squeezed his arm painfully.

The alphas in the room just issued heavy sighs and frowned disapprovingly in the direction of the noise.

“I don’t remember Peter and Talia being quite this… aggressive,” Braeden reiterated.

“Nope…” Laura muttered into Stiles’ neck. He felt her arm stretch across his back, hugging him, and Braeden caught her hand and held it on his other shoulder.

Deeper within the house, Talia howled. There was another loud crash and a dull thud. Another thud. And another.

“That’s enough,” Chris murmured coldly, getting to his feet.

Derek followed him out.

For a moment, Stiles wondered if he should go with them. Omegas were known to have a calming affect on alphas, especially their mates. And it didn’t take a genius to guess that the festering issues between Peter and Talia had something to do with omegas, perhaps even Stiles in particular.

Laura whined and nuzzled him. He thought she might have even licked him a little.

“It’s not your fault,” Braeden assured, patting his knee with her free hand.

Stiles felt small as he leaned into Laura. “… I didn’t think it was…”

It occurred to him then that maybe Laura’s visit really was the reason they were suddenly spending so much time with the pack; not for Peter’s benefit, but for Stiles’.


	18. Eighteen

Chris could think of a dozen ways he would rather have spent their last few emergency leave days than playing mediator between Peter and Talia. Easily. More than a dozen, even. Unfortunately, by the time Peter returned to work on Monday, even Chris had to admit, Peter might be right about needing more pack support. Necessary or not, Chris wasn’t exactly happy about it.

And he wasn’t the only one.

“Something’s not right,” Derek said in lieu of greeting when Chris answered the door.

Chris sighed and closed the door as Derek stomped his way inside. “With Peter. Yeah, I know.”

“Not just him. Mom too.”

Rubbing his temples, Chris fought the impulse to snort and unleash his inner Peter in retort. He was minorly successful. “She’s certainly not helping as much as we hoped…”

Derek frowned at him, unimpressed.

“Well, she’s not,”

“This is serious.”

“I’m aware,”

“Where’s your omega right now?”

Chris huffed, crossing his arms. “Upstairs, finally redecorating his Heat room. Why?”

Derek leveled a glare at him that spoke volumes about how little intelligence he thought Chris was exercising. A voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspicious like Stiles muttered how truly expressive those heavy brows were on the young wolf’s face. The gravity in Derek’s posture and expression kept Chris from chuckling aloud.

“This is his fault,”

Chris stiffened, all humor gone. “Bullshit.”

“I’m not saying it’s intentional—”

“Peter’s struggling with some territorial instincts. That’s it. Stiles is in no way responsible for what’s going on with Talia—”

“We haven’t had an omega in the pack since Laura left—”

“That’s not Stiles’ problem,”

“No. It’s yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think Peter’s response to him is unexpected?” Derek was a close to gaping at him as Chris had ever seen him, “What do think it’s like for the rest of us, for mom, having this kid show up out of nowhere? At least Peter wasn’t blind-sided.”

Chris crossed his arms and went still, reigning in the impulse to snap back defensively. Jaw set, he waited for Derek to continue.

Derek may have been an alpha wolf, but he wasn’t the most dominant man in the room. He knew it, instinctively and consciously. He took a breath to gather his thoughts, and backed into the couch, eyes averted before continuing to speak.

“We’re not just some dysfunctional family, Chris. We’re pack. I think you forget the differences sometimes,”

“Reminded me,”

Derek looked towards the stairs, towards Stiles, and shrugged. “He’s not just her brother’s submissive mate. He’s her pack. Her omega.”

Chris shook his head, “Peter and I have been clear on that, she has no claim to him beyond what we give her,”

“Of course not, but that doesn’t erase her instincts as the Pack Alpha to protect the most vulnerable member,”

He couldn’t help the derisive snort that escaped then. “This isn’t about Talia’s instincts, Derek. She tried to access private medical records and bully us into life-changing decisions we’re not ready for. She’s being intentionally controlling because she’s sexist. Its a problem with the woman, not the wolf. That’s it.”

Derek grunted, grinding his teeth. “I don’t disagree, but you’re missing the point—”

“The point,” Chris stressed, stepped forward to loom over Derek where he leaned against the couch’s backrest, “is that Peter is newly mated to an omega, and instead of helping him adjust to it, Talia is aggravating him. Needlessly. Unlike him, there’s nothing triggering her—”

Derek shook his head hard, holding a hand up.

“What.” Chris snapped. “What could possibly be pushing her to fight us about how we handle our mate—"

“He could be pregnant,”

And Chris froze.

Derek threw his hands up in a self-satisfied shrug. “It fits.”

“… it was only his first partnered Heat,” Chris countered lamely.

Infuriatingly, Derek only shrugged again.

“He’s on birth control.”

“Said so yourself, you didn’t get in to see Deaton until days later.”

“No. No.” Chris shook his head as he began pacing. “He’s not pregnant.”

“Why else would mom be so invested in how Peter treats him?”

“Her outdated dynamic expectations…?”

Derek snorted. “Passive aggressive is more her M.O. and you know. She has no problem biting her tongue around Braeden, and when Deucalion and his mate were still pack, she left him be too.”

A wave of exhaustion hit Chris then. He deflated. “Holy shit. Something’s triggering their wolves.”

“Yeah,”

Chris sighed. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt sick as he admitted, “Peter’s been thinking he was going feral…”

Derek balked.

“He hasn’t just been losing his temper with Talia. He nearly popped fangs on a cashier at Von’s because they pushed a cart into Stiles the other day.”

Derek barely stifled a snort, smirking. “I mean… yeah. Even human alphas get touchy…”

“It hasn’t even been two weeks since his Heat… Fuck!”

Chris ran his hands through his hair as he resumed pacing. Upstairs, he thought he could just make out the sound of Stiles singing off-tune as he finished painting the “accent wall” in the Heat room. He briefly considering ripping his hair out just to have an outlet.

He took a breath. Reminded himself this was a good thing. Not ideal, no, but better than what they’d been fretting over. At least Peter wasn’t going feral.

“Chris?”

“Stiles is pregnant.”

“…”

“…”

“… Congratulations?”

“…Thanks.”

~!~

Peter’s first day back at work, his first day away from Stiles, went better than expected. Until it didn’t. Then it was a shitstorm.

“Just tell me,” Peter gritted through his teeth into the phone “If I need to find a new healer for my omega.”

“I promise,” Deaton replied promptly, “If Talia wants medical information on _any_ pack member beside her own Bonded omega and/or adolescent child, without that wolf’s expressed permission, she would have to find a different healer to keep on retainer.”

“Good. It better stay that way. And Deaton?”

“Yes?”

Peter dug his claws along the groove on the underside of his desk a little deeper as he warned, “Laura may not be pack, but she is family. You should know, I’ll defend her privacy just a thoroughly as I will Stiles’. Even from Talia.”

“… Laura has not been my patient for many years, Peter.”

“Still. She visits. She’s pregnant. I know you’ve seen her.”

“Perhaps. But that would be confidential. From you and from Talia.”

“Glad we understand each other.”

And if Peter needed a minute after ending the call to retract his fangs and claws, no one was around to see.

He told himself not to dwell on it, but that thought was beginning to sound worrisomely like a avoidance rather than self-perseverance. He’d never had such a hard time controlling his wolf as he had in the past week. What had started as a surprisingly strong protective instinct hadn’t abated, but morphed into full blown moodiness that was closer to inciting violence with every day.

Spending time with his pack wasn’t helping. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was almost like Peter was starting to put them all on edge. Even Derek was noticeably grumpier than usual.

Maybe that was why Talia was getting so pushy concerning Stiles. Maybe Peter really was unstable, maybe his wolf’s reaction to mating an omega really was uncommonly developed, and Talia’s subconscious recognized something dangerous…

Cora knocked on his office door a moment before opening it. “Delivery, boss.”

Peter rolled his shoulders and waved her in, but it did next to nothing to relieve the tension that had been growing there for the past week. It only seemed to get worse every time Talia’s name was mentioned, but that was possibly just him projecting. Maybe.

A plastic bag from Chris’ favorite Thai place plopped in front of him.

Peter arched a brow at his niece-turned-secretary. “Lunch?”

“I would assume so. The delivery guy said the order included instructions to leave a note.”

“A note?” Peter smirked as he opened the bag to the smell of hot curry, not his usual pad thai. “Huh? Interesting choice…”

Cora dropped a receipt on his keyboard, the “note” in the blocky typeset of all such documents: Hope you’re enjoying your first day back! We miss you! Love—C & S.

“Ew,” Cora sneered, “You’re all… smiley. It’s weird.”

“It’s not that weird,”

“This?” she waved to indicate the receipt and meal at large, “is disgustingly sweet.”

“Hmm, it’s like my mates care about me or something.”

“God knows why,” Cora rolled her eyes and insisted snidely, “But seriously, Chris isn’t this romantic. It’s weird.”

“You’re not wrong,” Peter admitted, double checking the receipt. He pointed to the familiar last four digits of the credit card number, beside the name Argent. “But you forget, dearest niece, I don’t just have Chris waiting for me at home anymore.” He held the receipt up proudly, “This has Stiles written all over it.”

Cora’s eyes went wide in horror. “Holy shit. Erica was right.”

Peter dropped the receipt, suspicious. “About?”

“You’re completely slick-whipped.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Peter wondered aloud as he scooped up some curry and rice. It wasn’t as good as the pad thai, but it was tangy and spicy in a way that made his tongue burn just a little. That was plenty good enough.

~!~

Stiles finished painting and had just managed to clean up when an unfamiliar car pulled up to the house. He paused at the window to lean out and take note: it was an unbelievably bright yellow sports car, very eye catching.

It was almost as eye-catching as the pregnant omega who got out from behind the driver’s seat. 

“Laura Tandy!” Stiles cried out the window, scandalized and maybe possibly in his best Talia-impression, “What do you think you’re doing!? D _riving_!? In your _condition_!?”

Laura grinned and waved up at him tauntingly, “Figured I should get the worst child-endangerment over with early, y’know. Also, this rental was my last chance to drive something so flashy and ridiculous—no room for a car seat in this baby.”

Stiles grinned and leaned further out the window. “What a pity. It’s sexy.”

She jiggled the key as she walked toward the door, calling up to him in a sing-song voice, “Want to take it for a drive?”

Stiles squeaked in excitement and spun from the window, yelling so the whole world could hear him: “Ten minutes! I need to shower and talk to Chris!”

He made it downstairs in eight minutes, his hair still wet.

To his surprise, Chris and Laura were hanging around the breakfast bar with Derek. Stiles had no idea the werewolf was even there.

“Oh, hey, big guy. When did you get here?”

Derek shrugged, and that was apparently answer enough.

“Anywho,” Laura slid off a bar stool with an exaggerating hand bracing her back to oppose her baby-bump. “As lovely as you brutes are, I really did come here for Stiles. I need a little omega-TLC before Braeden and I fly home tonight.”

“We talked about this,” Stiles stated confidently as he came to her side and they somehow ended up in a standing cuddle, “You guys are staying two more weeks, remember.”

She laughed, “I wish,” then her expression tightened and the humor died, “Seriously, I hate leaving the pack like this, when things are so… tense.”

Derek cleared his throat pointedly. Stiles and Laura looked up just in time to see him give Chris a meaningful stare.

For his part, Chris was frowning at the omegas like the sight of them was somehow offensive and he was trying not to hide it. Stiles was familiar with that sort of look, but not from his mate.

Wilting a little, Stiles tried to disengage from Laura. “Uh… what’s with the looks, guys?”

Laura pouted and squeezed Stiles tighter. “Come on, Chris!? Let me borrow him for just a couple hours.”

Chris shot a look back at Derek, then resettled on Stiles with a critical eye. For the life of him, Stiles couldn’t imagine why Chris was looking at him like that.

“Maybe you guys could just hang out here?” Derek suggested.

Stiles frowned, but his stomach didn’t sink till he saw Chris nodding along and pointedly no long looking at him.

“Seriously?” Laura gaped at the two alphas. “Chris? You’re not letting him go out now?”

Chris winced. “It’s not like that—”

“He hasn’t been anywhere without you or Peter. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,”

Stiles blanched.

He wasn’t the only one. Derek’s eyes went wide as they snapped to Chris, and the human alpha actually recoiled in shock as if she’d actually slapped him.

“I—We didn’t—” for the first time since Stiles met him, Chris absolutely floundered. He finally met Stiles’ eye, and his expression crumbled. “Oh, Stiles, it’s not like that, don’t cry…”

Stiles blinked, and only then did he realize how wet his eyes were. Reflexively, he touched the skin beneath his eye, but immediately dropped the hand and lowered his gaze.

“Baby—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles cleared his throat and blinked rapidly.

“Love—”

“I said I’m _fine_!” Stiles flapped his hand between them as he snapped, “Just fine.”

“I’m staying out of this one.” Derek muttered, making for the door.

“Coward,” Laura glared after him.

Chris didn’t seem to notice, all his attention was on Stiles. He reached out for him. “Stiles, listen—”

“Fuck’s sake, Chris,”

“Shut up, Laura. You have nothing to do with this,”

“Can we talk about this later then, whatever _this_ is?” Stiles suggested awkwardly, gesturing between them. Then, in a much smaller voice he barely recognized, he said: “I’d really like to go out with Laura for a bit. I promise I’ll come back—”

“Stiles,” Chris sighed his name. Stiles raised his head enough to see his mate scrub his hands over his face fitfully. “It’s not like that. We trust you—”

“Then I can go?” Stiles raised his chin defiantly. If his arm tightened around Laura desperately, at least Chris couldn’t tell.

The alpha’s face turned resigned. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a deliberate step back.

“Okay,” Chris’ voice broke, nearly a sob. “Okay, yeah… Of course. Go. Have fun. We’ll talk when you get back.”

“Cool,” Stiles nodded stiffly.

He let Laura guide him out of the house, her body radiating anger beside him. But Stiles wasn’t angry. He was hurt.

Laura got behind the wheel and peeled down the road.

It didn’t feel like he was running away, he knew he’d be back in a few hours, probably before Peter. He wondered if it felt that way to Chris though. The thought made him feel sick, and that, finally, was what made him angry.

“What the hell just happened.” He whispered.

Laura reached over to grip his knee, her voice disappointed. “Even the best alphas can be real idiots sometimes. I’m sure he didn’t mean it the way it came across. Probably. I’d put money on it.”

Stiles supposed she was right. Still, the disappointment in her tone eased something in his chest. Maybe it was that, or the fact she was Peter’s niece, or that she had those nifty omega pheromones working in her favor. Maybe he was just that stunned by the implications surrounding his first real attempt at the independence Chris and Peter had promised him.

Regardless of the reason, Stiles finally said it aloud.

“Even Bonded, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling this was too good to be true.”

Laura said nothing. Her silence was sympathetic, and plenty answer enough.

“No one’s perfect, right?” he sniffled. “I just don’t want to spend the rest of my life wishing they were better than they are,”


	19. Nineteen

Stiles was pregnant.

A full hour after everyone had cleared out, and Chris was still sitting at the breakfast bar, trying to kick his ass into gear.

Because Stiles was pregnant. Obviously.

It explained so much. Peter’s overwhelming protectiveness. Talia’s. The way Stiles and Laura kept pawing at each other constantly. Even the way Chris wanted to coddle and dote on him more and more with every passing day, as uncharacteristically sappy as it was.

Stiles was fucking pregnant.

And now that Chris knew, he hated the idea of his omega out in the world without him or Peter safely at his side. Unprotected. Vulnerable. Hormonally compromised by the young growing inside him.

God, but he sounded like the worst kind of conservative alpha asshat, even in his own mind.

They’d only had him a few short weeks. Chris told him—again—that they were all adjusting. Of course Stiles hadn’t been anywhere without them yet; he didn’t know anyone besides them. If it weren’t for baby, it honestly wouldn’t have occurred to Chris to stop Stiles from going out with Laura, or any packmate either.

Fuck. Stiles was pregnant.

It wasn’t a matter of control. They never intended it to seem that way.

And now his omega was pregnant, ignorant of that fact, and upset with him due to the misunderstanding. Oh, and Peter wasn’t answering his fucking phone.

“This is ridiculous,” Chris muttered, pulling his phone out again and dialing Peter for the third time.

The moment he was switched over to voicemail, Chris disconnected the call. In a surge of inspiration, or perhaps desperation for something proactive to do, he sought out another contact.

“Thank you for calling Deaton’s Medical, this is—”

“Chris Argent,” he cut in sharply, “My omega is one of Deaton’s patients. I need to schedule an appointment.”

“Certainly. May I have the omega’s name as it appears on your mating certificate?”

“Stiles Stilinski-Hale. Sorry, no. Mischief—Mys—You know what,” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. “I should probably just spell it out for you—”

“Mr. Argent? Peter Hale’s human mate, correct?”

“Yes,” Chris sighed.

“No worries, sir. I’ve located his account. I do see he was seen recently, is this appointment a follow-up?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Do I need an appointment for a pregnancy test?”

“A… pregnancy test?”

Chris huffed impatiently. “That’s what I said.”

“Yes, sir, it’s just… I see he was prescribed the Depo shot only two weeks ago—”

“Yeah, well, I guess it was too little too soon, so—”

“Sir? Has he gone into an early Heat since he was last seen?”

Something about the question made Chris pause. Maybe it was the nurse’s wary tone. “Of course not. Why?”

“Well, it’s just… looking at his file, he had the Depo so recently—”

“Yes!” Chris snapped. “ _After_ his first partnered Heat with us. Obviously, he beat the odds and caught on the first try, before the shot. Jesus. It’s not that complicated.”

“Well, no, but… sir, I can double check with Dr. Deaton, but standard procedure before administering any medications to an omega is to test for pregnancy. If he was pregnant, we would have known from the blood samples, even if the fetus were only a few days old.”

Chris sat up straight. Inexplicably, all sorts of internal alarms were going off in a hurry, breaking through the numbness of shock that had hit him since Derek suggested Stiles was carrying.

“We saw Deaton four days after his Heat ended,” Chris stated softly.

“Omegan bodies start producing hCG at a rate far accelerated than a beta woman’s—”

“So did you test him?”

“Of course. So unless he had an additional Heat since the last time we saw you, and the Dep shot proved less than effective, I’m afraid you’d be wasting time coming in for this.”

Chris remembered the shock on Stiles’ face when he’d refused to let him leave the house and he felt sick. The alarms in Chris’ mind only got louder.

“So… he’s not pregnant?

“Wha—Sir, yes. That would be correct.”

“You’re absolutely sure, right?”

The nurse was silent for a moment, and when he spoke it was with a tone that suggested he though Chris was being intentionally thick. “I have his file right in front of me, sir. I promise you, your omega was most definitely _not_ pregnant when he was here two weeks ago.”

His phone beeped, and Chris spotted Talia’s name flash across his screen with a text reading: SOS.

“Thank you, I have to make another call now.”

“Good afternoon then, Mr. Argent.”

Chris was already opening Talia’s contact info on his phone by the time the nurse disconnected. As the phone rang in his ear, Chris braced himself to hear Stiles and Laura had been in a car accident.

The sick dread in his gut did nothing to lessen the impact of her words the moment the call connected.

“Meet me at the hospital. Peter’s been poisoned,”

~!~

Stiles really want to be enjoying his froyo. Really. He was just too busy trying to make sense of what had just happened between him and Chris. Or maybe what had always been happening between him, Chris and Peter? Never mind that Peter hadn’t even been home, or that Stiles hadn’t particularly wanted or needed space away from them before today. Still. He’d never found a bowl full of so much colorful sugar it’d put a unicorn’s shit to shame so depressing before.

“Stop thinking about it.” Laura insisted, dipping her spoon in his concoction.

Stiles swatted her hand away halfheartedly. “Keep your knocked-up cooties to yourself, thanks.”

“Only if you cheer up and help me distract us both from the irritating alphas in our lives who aren’t even here.” She smiled brightly.

Stiles blinked at her. “You’re right. Distract me, Laura: tell me all about that most exciting parasite taking over your life, who I’m sure has nothing at all to do with your own irritating alpha.”

She laughed. “Point taken,”

He sighed dramatically. At least he was going for dramatic. It might have sounded more genuinely forlorn than he wanted. “At least you have a baby and baby things to talk about and be excited for. I envy you.”

“Oh? You want my morning sickness and inability to eat like a normal human being—Oh, no. I take that back. You already eat like a pregnant omega.” She stole another bite from his bowl. “This is delicious by the way. Gross in theory, but delicious.”

“Don’t knock the curly fries. They make everything better. Even alphas.”

Laura snorted into her bowl hard enough Stiles thought froyo might have leaked out her nose.

“Seriously, though.” He handed her his bowl disinterestedly. “Chris and Peter are pretty much the only thing I have to talk about, or at least the only exciting development in my life. They’re my whole world.”

She picked through his froyo silently for a moment, giving his statement due consideration.

Stiles sighed and stole back a single strawberry-froyo-and-peanut butter-sauce-covered curly fry.

“Only for right now,” she said eventually. “You won’t be newly mated forever. You’ll learn to live together, to love each other, and along the way you put together a fulfilling life for yourself with them.”

“I wanted to be a cop when I was a kid,”

She put down her spoon. “Well…” she said slowly, “Obviously, that’s not happening,”

He cracked a smile, “You sound like Lydia.”

“Childhood sweetheart?” Laura teased.

Stiles nudged her away with his shoulder, but grinned. “Omega I met at the Halfway. You would have liked her. She was a genius smartass.”

Laura perked up. “Hey! Me too!”

“Naw, you’re just a smartass. To be fair, you do come by it honestly, judging by the rest of your family.”

“Yeah, we’re a bunch of characters.” Her joking manner softened then. “That includes Peter, obviously, but Chris too.”

“I thought you wanted to distract me?”

“I know when to admit defeat, and you clearly need to talk.” She stared at him as she took a large bit of froyo. Mouth full, she gurgled, “So talk.”

Stiles watched her chew, and Laura held his gaze determinedly the whole while. Her eyes widened expectantly as she nodding in prompting and lifted another spoonful to her mouth.

“I gotta be honest,” Stiles told her boldly, “I feel like your werewolf stamina and strength would probably give you an unfair advantage in a staring contest.”

Laura blinked once pointedly. “Talk,” she reiterated, just before stuffing her mouth again, and kept staring him down.

“Fine,” Stiles turned away with a huff.

As Laura shook with laughter beside him, he wondered if he would ever hang out with any of the Hale pack like this, and not necessarily because Peter and Chris might say no. Maybe the pack would say no. He didn’t exactly click with the rest of them, not like he had with Laura, the only omega among them, and Braeden, one of the few humans associated with the pack.

Course, Laura and Braeden weren’t pack either. Maybe that was factor.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said with genuine feeling.

Her answering whine was more wolf than woman. “I’ll miss you too.”

His eyes were stinging, just a little. “It’s not fair. I feel like you’re my only friend right now…”

“Oh, Stiles,” she set the bowl down and pulled him into a hug, “You have my number. We can talk all the time still. You can come visit us when the pup comes!” After a beat, she tacked on cheekily, “Or the next time your dipshit alphas mishandle their drama again and piss you off.”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan—wait, what?”

Laura pulled back to retrieve the froyo containers—both of them—and raised a brow, “What, _wait, what_?”

“What drama? Earlier, you were just calling it a misunderstanding, unless…?” Stiles felt his heart stutter in his chest. “You really do think Chris wasn’t going to let me be on my own without him.”

Laura’s eyes widened comically and she shook her head. “No!” she emphasized, laughing, “That is _not_ really what I meant, when I said drama. Trust me, if Chris meant it like it sounded, that would make him a grade A, Asshole Alpha, and absolutely not the kind of guy Peter would mate with.”

Stiles sat up a little straighter and studied her. “Then what drama are you talking about?”

“You know,” she licked froyo off her spoon and used it to gesture vaguely. “Peter and his attitude adjustment.”

Stiles frowned at her. “I know?”

She nodded, absently fishing through the froyo again. “Yeah. Peter normally only joins the pack on special occasions, maybe two or three full moon runs a year.”

“But… we’ve been over there nearly every day this week!” Stiles reminded her, beyond confused and started to get angry.

First, Chris had a sudden problem with Stiles having his own life. Now, he was learning Peter was having issues for at least a third of the time they’d been together, and it’d somehow gone right over his head. Stiles was smart, uncommonly observant in fact, but he didn’t really know Peter yet, Or Chris.

They could be hiding anything from him. Lying about anything.

Something must have shown on his face, or in his scent, because Laura stilled and gave him a curious look. “Stiles… you didn’t know why you guys were suddenly spending so much time with pack?”

“You know…it’s funny, but I thought it was because of you.” He shot her a mockingly embarrassed winced, “I thought, since we only started hanging around the pack house after we learned you were in town, and since Peter, Chris and Braeden are such good friends… guess I figured they were just taking advantage of opportunity for me to get to know you.”

His mind flashed back to Peter’s temper the past week, to constant arguing and eventual fighting between him and Talia. Jesus. There had been straight up violence involved, practically in front of him, and Stiles hadn’t even questioned it for longer than a second, he was so absorbed in himself.

He remembered Braeden telling him it wasn’t his fault. How he’d been so certain at the time that it wasn’t.

Stiles slumped. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No!” She gripped his arm earnestly. “You just didn’t know what was going on. You’re not a wolf, and you don’t have years of experience with a pack to rely on. They should have told you what was going on.”

Stiles nodded. He could accept that explanation at face value. It didn’t make him feel better, but he could accept it.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it,” he winced. “Peter’s having control issues because he mated me…”

“Don’t. The only person responsible for Peter is Peter.” Laura insisted, voice gone cool. “That’s how the world works for alphas.”

“I’m not taking responsibility—”

“You are—”

“But it is because of me, right?” Damn, his eyes were stinging again. Stiles wiped at them furiously and rushed to say, “And I’m his mate now too, I may not be an alpha, but I could help in my own way, right? Omegas are supposed to be good at calming alphas. Not… driving them crazy.”

“That’s not what this is, Stiles. Braeden and I talked about it, and I think maybe Peter’s sick—”

Stiles’ phone rang, effectively cutting her off.

He pulled it from his pocket, and only felt worse when he saw the name on his screen. “It’s Chris…”

Laura sighed. “You should answer it.”

He already was though, raising the phone to his ear fully aware that the werewolf next to him could hear at least as well as he could. “Hey, Chris—”

“Where are you!?” Chris barked over him. “Is Laura still with you?”

Beside him, Laura stiffened and her eyes flashed werewolf gold.

“Yeah, we’re at the Froyo place in the mall.”

“Get to the packhouse, immediately. Wait for me there.”

Stiles watched Laura bristle, her face flexing with a hint of wolf and his heart lurched. “Chris, what’s happened?”

“I don’t know. Peter’s hurt—”

“What!?” the omegas shrieked, gripping each other’s hands as they jumped off the shop’s bench.

“Chris!?” Stiles demanded as Laura yanked him toward the car.

“I don’t know, baby. I’m on my way to the hospital—”

“We can meet you—”

“No! Go to Talia’s, Stiles. Derek and the betas will keep you safe till I get there. I love you.”

And the call disconnected.

Numbly, Stiles let Laura deposit him in the passenger’s seat of her sporty rental. He vaguely noticed her eyes were still glowing gold when she got behind the wheel.

“He’s going to be okay.” Laura said firmly, nodding to herself as she glared at the road. “If they’re taking him to a hospital, that means it wasn’t immediately fatal, and wolves are tough. Peter’s tougher than most—”

“Is this my fault?” Stiles asked tearfully.

“What!? No!”

“Even indirectly? If he’s been getting violent lately because of me—”

“Stiles, no.” She slapped her hand down on his knee with enough force to make him whine. She lifted her hand immediately. “Shit. Sorry.”

Stiles rubbed at his knee. “I know you said I’m not responsible, but—”

“Stiles, if Peter was going feral because of you, it wouldn’t happen over night. Not even in a week.” She gripped his leg more carefully, shaking him. “Trust me. I’ve seen werewolves lose themselves to the wolf before. It doesn’t happen that quick. Peter’s just going through an adjustment period—”

“A _n adjustment period_!?” Stiles cried hysterically, “Yeah!? Does that usually land a grown ass werewolf in the hospital!?”

Laura’s mouth tightened. Her gold eyes darted over to him for only an instant. “No. This is… something else.”

Stiles laughed, high pitched enough to make her wince. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure it’s completely unrelated. Sure. Why not.”

“Stiles…”

“And even if it wasn’t,” Stiles shrugged exaggeratedly, throwing himself back into the luxury seat, “why should I be bothered, right? I’m just the omega. It’s not like anyone’s been telling me shit so far—not Peter, certainly not Chris—why start now!”

He went off on a rant from there. Laura didn’t try to stop him. She stayed silent, knuckles white on the wheel, and let him scream increasingly bitter words all the way into town.

By the time they pulled up the Hale Pack home, he’d let off the worst of the steam. It left him quietly furious at his mates in a way that was fragile enough even he knew a stiff breeze could shatter it straight into a mess of anxiety and fear.

“Son of bitch!” Stiles screamed, throw the car door closed as he stumbled out of it. “And yes, I mean that literally!”

“Who’s the bitch in question?” Derek asked, scowling at them from the front porch where he was waiting for them.

Erica leaned on the railing beside him, “And why are we questioning her parenting skills, exactly?”

“Grandma Hale,” Laura said as Stiles seethed.

Unexpectedly, both wolves looked disturbed by the answer. “Why is Peter a son of bitch?” Derek ventured haltingly. “Besides literally.”

“Because I’m his goddamn mate and he doesn’t tell me shit!” Stiles fumed. “And now he’s in the fucking hospital, and instead of going to see him, I’m expect to what—wallow in the miserable knowledge that I might be partly to blame while I’m being babysat by his fucking broody, oversized nephew!”

“Oh wow….” Erica gaped at him, and he thought maybe she wasn’t being sarcastic.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m _talking_ ,” Stiles mocked, only daring to be so disrespectful to an alpha because there was a vehicle and several yards between them, and he was righteously pissed, goddammit. “about the fact I had to learn from Laura of all people, that we’ve been fitting in so much quality pack time lately because I’m driving him fucking feral!”

A part of Stiles expected Derek to flash his red eyes and demand Stiles submit and apologize for the all the cussing and tantrum throwing. He’d always known his mouth would get him in trouble eventually, and even being mated wouldn’t excuse such behavior in many alphas’ eyes. He was just pissed and hurt enough not to care at the moment. He was ready for it.

He wasn’t ready to see Derek turn those burning eyes and bared fangs on Laura.

“What the fuck have you been filling his head with?”

“Hey!” Stiles squawked, startled by the response and inexplicably offended.

Derek barely glanced at him as he growled, but it made Stiles flinch back anyway. “This isn’t about you, omega. Peter’s not even going feral.”

“I didn’t say he was!” Laura argued. She rubbed her belly self-consciously, but the flush high on her cheeks was from pure frustration. “I only told him what the rest of us knew—”

“Huh?” Erica paled as she looked between the two siblings, “The rest of us were supposed to know something?”

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In that moment, he reminded Stiles more of Chris than Peter.

“Peter’s not going feral,” Derek repeated slowly. When he opened his eyes to stare each omega down, they were back to hazel. “He’s a newly mated alpha who’s been responding to an unactualized threat.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. He knew it was at least as determinantal as a stiff wind though.

“Threat?” he stumbled backwards, chest and throat constricting.

At the same time, Laura moved closer to the porch, demanding, “What threat!?”

Derek cracked his neck, growling, “Rogue Hunters. They got him with wolvesbane,”

Stiles gasped, hands clapping over his mouth as his eyes water for the hundredth fucking time that afternoon. “Hunters!? But… why? If Peter’s not feral, if he’s… he’s not dangerous, he’s… he’s a _lawyer_!”

The asshole rolled his eyes, like Stiles was being thick instead of having a fucking heart attack. “It’s not a legal hunt, genius.”

“Oh my god!” Laura spun on her heel, already reaching for him. “Stiles! That’s why Chris told us to come here! The pack’s being targeted by rogue hunters!”

Stiles reeled—wait, no, he fell on his ass. Full-on planted it on the front lawn. Peter was attacked. Holy shit, but someone had tried to murder his mate.

The thought barely solidified in actual words, and immediately after Stiles passed out.

~!~

Peter woke slowly, his throat burning and his stomach noxiously tangled enough to leave him speechless. So he stayed still. Forced himself to keep breathing slow, measured breaths through his sore throat. Controlled the panic to limit the pain.

It helped that he recognized the voices around him. He would know Chris’ voice anywhere, probably even if he had been fully comatose.

“How did this happen?”

“They laced his lunch with a fast-acting blue monkshood derivative,” Talia’s voice answered, cold and deadly, “Thai, apparently. Cora said it was unexpected, but your name and credit card were on the receipt. I guess there was a note; she’s at the office, trying to find it now.”

Animal fury rose up in Peter’s mind like a tidal wave, powerful and undeniable and mindless. He began to shift, the wolf assuming control for a split second before he forced if back with an audible growl.

“Peter!?”

“We’re here, little brother. Take it slow.”

Chris’ familiar touch did nothing to tame the beast, but it hurried his human mind to the foreground. Chris made it just a little easier to control the shift.

Then Talia took his hand and so much of his pain with it.

“Shift, Peter.” She ordered, “You’ll heal faster as the wolf.”

He did as his Alpha demanded. It wasn’t even a choice, and he didn’t bother pretending it was. With her help, his body broke apart and realigned, his fur flowed over his skin and his pain became nothing but an ache, then a memory. When it was done, he could breathe comfortably again.

He laid his muzzle in his mate’s hands and let out a questioning whine.

“Easy, lover.” Chris whispered gravely into the tuft of fur by his ear. “No one else was hurt. They’re safe at Talia’s. Rest now. We’ll figure it all out when you can shift back,”

“The shift should have repaired most of the damage,” Talia said, petting down his back reassuringly. “He’ll need red meat and a few hours rest before he can shift back anyway.”

“Yeah, I remember. I know the drill,”

“Nothing he can’t get at home.”

“Agreed. I’ll go talk to the doctor, see if I can get him discharged.” Chris lifted Peter’s heavy head to meet his eye, “Want to get out of here and let Stiles and me cuddle you back to health?”

Peter licked the greying scruff on Chris’ cheek and rumbled his agreement. He could only think of one thing he’d rather do more than cuddle his mates to sleep, and he was in no shape for the sort of mauling he wanted to enact.

Chris kissed the top of his head and left the room on feet nearly as quick and graceful as a wolves’.

Peter sat up silently and met Talia’s icy stare. He let loose a dark, low and long growl.

His Alpha’s eyes lit up crimson and she nodded once. And just like that, all was right between them again.

God, but it had been too long since they’d hunted together. Not since the last time they’d had to avenge their pack.


	20. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. You might not be ready for this one. I wasn't.   
> WARNING: heavy feels ahead

Chris was worried as he parked behind Talia in front of the Pack house that evening. He was worried, sickened with it, about how close they’d come to losing Peter. He worried about what it meant, for the pack, for Peter, himself, and Stiles. He was worried about how Stiles would react to meeting the full wolf for the first time, in such an unplanned and stressful situation. He was worried about the doubtlessly uncomfortable but clearly necessary conversations they needed to have with the omega. Soon.

But Peter was alive, already on the mend, and the pack was intact, and Stiles… Stiles was more than Chris gave him credit for.

He opened the rear door to let Peter clamber out of the car as the porch light lit with the front door’s slamming open. Peter’s paws hardly touched the ground before Stiles was on him. The dear boy didn’t even hesitate, didn’t balk or show any alarm, he just threw his arms around Peter’s neck and fell into him in a trembling, quietly sobbing mess.

He was so quiet. He didn’t say a word, not to Peter and certainly not to Chris. He didn’t even seem to notice Chris standing there as he cried into Peter’s fur.

Peter rumbled a reassuring purr and nuzzled their omega. After a long moment, Peter caught his eye before pointedly nosing Stiles toward the car.

No one said a word.

Chris drove them home in silence, the entire twenty-something minutes. Stiles sat in the backseat with their wolf’s head in his lap, sniffling occasionally and randomly alternating between petting and kissing Peter’s face wherever he could reach.

Chris hated the quiet.

He slowed to a stop in their driveway and sighed as he put the car into park. The click of gear shift was loud as a gunshot in the tense silence.

No one moved. The stillness wasn’t uncommon from the wolf, though Chris didn’t like the wary prick of his ears when he glanced in the rear mirror. Stiles was downright rigid though, his gaze locked on where his fingers clenched Peter’s fur, and nothing about that seemed right.

Heaving another sigh, Chris stretched his arm over the passenger’s headrest to turn and look at Stiles.

Peter whined, the sound full of confusion and Chris kicked himself for not warning him on the drive from the hospital. He’d been so caught in the turmoil of the pregnancy scare and then Peter almost dying, and—

Enough excuses. It was time to fix it.

He addressed Stiles first, and only Stiles. “I owe you an apology,”

Peter’s eyes stopped flicking between them to stay on the omega with laser focus. For his part, said omega didn’t react besides the thinning of his lips and the tightening of his fingers in Peter’s scruff.

Chris cleared his throat and pushed on. “I was… _emotional_ when Laura came over, I’d just had a bit of a shock and… and I took it out on you unfairly.”

Peter’s next whine was insistent in its inquiry.

Chris caught his mate’s red eyes and gave a short, subtle shake of his head. _Not now_.

“Why, though?” Stiles murmured before finally lifting his head to glare at Chris with glassy eyes. “What shocked you so much? Was it… was it related to, to this--?” He swept his hand down Peter’s back unsteadily.

“No,” Chris twisted further in his chair, instinctively moving to reach for the boy but just as quickly aborted the motion. “No, Stiles. It wasn’t related, it wasn’t even important—”

Stiles scoffed, “Obviously it was, since it convinced you I was better off locked up in an ivory tower after all,”

Peter lifted his head abruptly, growling as he looked between them again.

“Fuck,” Chris muttered, pinching his brow. He let go and met Stiles’ eye earnestly. “No. Stiles, no—I wasn’t thinking that, I wasn’t thinking at all, and I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“Then tell me!” Stiles cried, the sudden outburst making both alphas flinch, Peter’s ears pinning back to his skull. Stiles stopped yelling, but he wasn’t half as quiet as before. “What was it about then, Chris? If something was so _emotional_ for you, don’t you think that’s something your mate aught to know about?”

“You were pregnant!” Chris blurted thoughtlessly.

Both Peter and Stiles stared at him, incredulous. Given Peter’s canine state, it would have been a comical sight under different circumstances.

Chris raised a hand in the stunned silence to hold off comments. “Correction: I got it in my head at the time, there was a _possibility_ you _might_ be pregnant—”

“And your immediate response was to put me under house arrest!?” If anything, Stiles’ incredulity was only fanned further. “You, what?! You didn’t even think you should, I don’t know, _tell me_!?”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Chris repeated. “I’m not making excuses, Stiles, and I’m sorry, but the truth is I wasn’t thinking about anything beyond keeping you safe. Not about Peter, not about your emotions, nothing!”

Like a tree suddenly uprooted by a tornado, Stiles’ wretched stillness came to an explosive end. He gestured violently, spluttering with emotion that could be not contained by words. The flurry of activity became a flail for the door handle and then the omega nearly knocked the breath out of himself as he tried to jump out of the car with his seatbelt still on.

Chris rushed to get out as Peter whimpered, and rounded the car just as Stiles stumbled across the gravel.

The omega rounded on him, slender limbs everywhere, and might have even managed to slap Chris if he’d been a foot closer.

Peter hopped out and took a single beseeching step toward the omega, only to have Stiles point an accusing finger in his face.

“No!” Stiles barked, “Just no! I done! I am so done!”

“Stiles!” Chris made to grab him, to calm the omega with his pheromones so they could talk about this out—

Stiles slapped his hand away, inexplicably. It didn’t hurt, but it stunned. Chris had never heard of a Bonded omega responding to a mate so violently.

“I’m done with you assholes treating me like a child!” Stiles yelled, face splotchy red with anger.

Chris gaped, “I—we haven’t--!”

Stiles laughed mirthlessly, and the sound was awful to Chris’ ears. “But you _have_!” he insisted, gesturing wildly, “You call me your omega, say I’m your mate, but you don’t talk to me—”

Peter yipped and stepped forward, but Stiles backpeddled in the same instant.

“Not about anything meaningful,” he insisted, indicating both of them, “not like you do each other. Hell, Peter, you almost died and the only thing you,” he jabbed a finger at Chris, “told me was to go wait for you at Talia’s, like I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head beyond that!”

“Because the pack was under attack—”

“Which you could have told me!” Stiles yelled over him. “And don’t even get me started on the Pack bullshit—”

“What pack bullshit!?”

“Are you serious right now,” Stiles gaped at them, his momentum interrupted by shock. He turned his wide eyes on Peter for a brief, pointed instant, and both alphas could see the cogs turning and clicking into place in the boy’s mind.

“…Stiles?” Chris tried to step closer again.

Stiles slapped his hands over his face and let loose a hysterical laugh. He backed up into garage door before dropping his hands and staring at them in an amazement that was, quite frankly, insulting.

“Peter’s been on a short fuse nearly as long as we’ve been mated,” Stiles explained exhaustedly, shaking his head slowly. “That’s why you thought I was pregnant. That’s why you were suddenly trying and failing to play kumbaya with Talia. Because something wasn’t right with Peter, and neither of you considered I should know that was going on.”

Peter let out an unhappy grumble. He pawed at the ground, shifting restlessly in a way Chris had never seen him do before, at least not as a wolf.

Chris thought he could relate to the discomfort though. A part of him wanted to stiffen and get defensive, but the resignation and hurt in his omega’s voice cowed that part into submission.

“You’re so new,” he said softly, heartbreak in his voice. “And sweet, and…”

“I’m not though,” Stiles whined, “At least… that’s not all I am,”

“We know that, Stiles. We do. This is just so new for all of us, and we thought taking it slow and not rushing you to deal with the pack and everything else when you were still acclimating to the Bond… we thought we were helping…”

He trailed off, the words sounding lame even to his own ears. 

There was a beat of silence, only punctuated by Stiles’ sniffles and fidgeting. Chris didn’t know what else to say, how to make this right, how to help Stiles trust them again.

Evidently, the pause was at least as uncomfortable and unacceptable to Stiles.

“You guys are in a fucking werewolf _pack_!” Stiles stressed, like his logic was obvious. The words spewed from his mouth a rush then, faster and faster in keeping with the tears on his cheeks. “You showed up in my life promising me respect and a semblance of independence I could barely bring myself to hope for, and you came with a built-in support system, and then did everything you could to isolate me from it! That’s like the definition of being controlling alpha douchebags.”

Chris felt sick to his stomach. “That was never our intention,” he said dully, and for the first time he seriously entertained the idea that Stiles probably wouldn’t believe him.

Peter lowered his head all the way to the ground with a mournful rumble. God, but Chris wished he was in human, wished he wasn’t still healing from mortal wounds. He needed Peter for this conversation. His mate had a gift for words that Chris couldn’t hope to compete with.

Both of his mates did, actually. And wasn’t that the fucking point.

“We were trying not to overwhelm you,” Chris finished his explanation lamely, just in time for his own eyes to start leaking. “I am so, _so_ sorry, Stiles.”

“I get—get it,” Stiles’ whole body heaved with a stuttering breath as he worked through his tears. “You w-want to protect me, and that’s fine! It’s _fine_ , I’m okay with that. B-but… you’ll have a hell of a better chance at it if you ju-just talk to me! Fuck! Be my alphas and make all the bad decisions, I don’t care! But at least give me a chance to be complicit!?”

“Okay,” Chris agreed solemnly, Peter bobbing his head beside him with a noise that was downright needy.

They stood there in the dark driveway, a triumvirate of misery, as Stiles noisily fought to get his sobs under control. They remained apart from each other, both alphas a drift in second-guessing their best option like they’d never been before. Chris physically rocked backward when it hit him that for once, he couldn’t count on Peter to pick up his slack pull them over this hurdle; they were clearly both so far out of their depth.

There was about four feet of distance between him and Stiles, less even from him to Peter. It felt like miles. Chris didn’t have the faintest idea how to bridge the gap.

And then Stiles stomped his foot with a huff and enacted a small miracle.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes. Get over here and help me, dammit!” He held out his arms, chin up even as it trembled with a fresh wave of sobs. His voice cracked as he pleaded, “I need my alphas,”

Just this once more, Chris acted without thinking, and ran to his omega.

~!~

Peter wasn’t fully recovered until the following morning. He knew, because despite his body’s need for rest, he spent hours laying awake, curled around Stiles while Chris tossed and turned beside them. He tried twice to shift back to human in the night, but it wasn’t till he finished a light doze just after dawn that he had any success.

By the time he caught his breath enough to appreciate the sheets against his bare skin, Chris was sitting up against the headboard, watching him. Peter hated the deep shadows under his lover’s eyes almost as much as he hated the lingering scent of tears on their omega.

Peter rolled onto his side, up against Stiles’ sleeping form, and reached over for Chris’ hand wordlessly.

“I screwed up,” Chris whispered as he threaded their fingers together with care. “The first time he asked to go out on his own, I shot him down without hesitating.”

“It’s the soldier in you,” Peter answered smoothly. He’d had a lot of time to think it all over instead of sleeping. “Hunters can’t afford to hesitate.”

Chris gave a humorless smirk. “When in doubt, blame the old man, huh?”

Peter shrugged one shoulder. “If the shoe fits.”

The smirk faded just as quick as it appeared. “No. Stiles is right, we gave him expectations and then failed to meet them, the Argents certainly never preached that. We can only blame ourselves.”

Peter squeezed his hand and yawned widely. “Yes. But he called us out, and now we can do better,”

He’d been aiming for determined, but instead the words came out sounding exhausted. The yawn didn’t help. And Chris didn’t look reassured.

Good lord, but who would have thought the better part of Peter’s day would have been getting poisoned. If he were anyone else, he might be tempted to follow Chris down that rabbit hole of hopelessness. Peter didn’t have time for that, and he’d be damned if his mates did either.

Also, he never had been prone to self-pity.

“We can’t choose our parents or their questionable morals, Christopher,” Peter said impatiently, “We can only learn to be better. Your father had as much a hand in shaping your relationship with your omega as Talia and our father have on mine. No more, no less.”

He watched Chris stare out the window for a long moment. The grey morning light made him look almost sickly. Peter figured it was just his luck to have two of the world’s biggest emotionally internalizing saboteurs as his mates.

Peter closed his eyes, done with the depressing realizations for the time being. He needed sleep. The last thing any of them needed now was for Peter to be plain old cranky on top of everything else.

“I hate this,” Chris murmured.

Peter sighed and opened his eyes again.

“Just the idea,” Chris’ face crunched like he was physically pained, “that I might perpetuate any of that bastard’s values, even subconsciously—”

“Stop,”

“Peter,”

At the pleading tone, Peter sat up and met Chris’ shadowed eyes directly. He gave Chris his undivided attention, eyes and ears as open and unassuming as ever, and waited for what needed to be said.

“To him,” Chris slowly, as he gently set his palm on Stiles’ arm like he was afraid to touch him, “to Laura, to my mother: the intention doesn’t matter when the hurt’s still the same. I don’t _ever_ want to hurt him like that.”

Peter nodded his understanding. He gave it a moment for Chris to decide he was done, then leaned over Stiles to kiss him. It was a soft, but sound kiss, the kind with more comfort than passion. The kind of kiss that used to make Peter uncomfortable when they were young.

“You,” he whispered meaningfully, “are a better man, and a far better alpha, than Gerard could ever hope to be.”

“Thank you,” Chris breathed against his mouth.

Peter patted his lover’s cheek lightly and gave him another peck. “Now for the love God, Christopher, go to sleep.”

As Peter eased back down into the bedding, Chris gave a quiet chuckle. It felt like winning a prize.

“We’ll do better,” Peter concluded. Then he shimmied his shoulders against his pillow, getting good and comfy, and willed Chris to hear the determination in his voice, “And eventually, Stiles will trust us again. We just have to prove we deserve it.”

Chris snorted. “That easy, huh?”

“That easy.”

And it would be, Peter was sure. Which is to say, it probably would not be easy at all.

~!~

Stiles woke up alone in bed. He also woke to the smell of fresh bacon and something sweet of the baked good variety. He supposed it was a fair trade. Potentially.

He descended the stairs warily. Eyes narrowed. Back stiff. He was all cried out, and honestly still emotionally depleted to say the least, but his stomach was gurgling and even his wounded pride considered him worthy of an apology breakfast.

Still. His guard was up.

And it promptly came crashing down the moment he saw Peter standing, alive and well, on his own two feet in front of fridge. The relief felt like a literal punch to the gut.

Peter glanced over at him with a cautious version of his usually cocky grin. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

Stiles’ stomach answered for him, bubbling loud enough even Chris heard it over the crackling of bacon.

“Morning,” Chris hid a smile behind a sip of orange juice. “Hungry?”

Stiles wasn’t blushing as he moseyed on over to the breakfast bar. He was _not_. Gripping the back of a barstool, Stiles stubbornly remained standing as he eyed them.

“I could eat.” he admitted stiffly.

In practically the next breath, Peter swept forward with a plate of fried dough and bowl full of freshly cut fruit. And out came the whip cream, piled on high and fluffy, just the way he liked it.

“Enjoy,” Peter winked, sliding a fork and knife across the bar to him.

Stiles stared at the plate. “Are these… ?”

“Cherry turn overs.”

“Oh,” Stiles sat down and poked at the flaky crust curiously. “That’s… decadent.”

“It’s Chris’ idea of comfort food.”

“And this, I imagine, is yours,” and with that, Chris tipped a fair pile of bacon onto Stiles’ plate.

And they just… stood there. Looming. Both of them.

Stiles blinked up at them, at there expectant, hopeful faces. He snatched up the fork and leaned back in his stool.

“Okay…” he shifted uneasily and indicated the food with the fork, “But my accepting food is not to be mistaken for forgiveness. Just so we’re clear.”

For their part, neither alpha looked particularly surprised, or even affected. Chris took the comment in stride with a casual shrug and returned to the stove.

Peter sat down beside him with two steaming mugs and said breezily, “So in the interest of full disclosure, you should know I was poisoned by a professional. They stole Chris’ credit card number and signed your initials to make me put lower my guard, and it worked.”

Stiles let his first forkful of turnover drop back to the plate with a clunk. He stared at Peter suspiciously. Was the werewolf working an angle? Trying to play on his omega sympathies to earn his forgiveness?

Peter merely raised a brow at him over the rim of his mug.

“Fine, I’ll buy in,” Stiles crossed his arms tightly and glowered expectantly. “Why does someone want you dead, Peter?”

“Well,” Peter said with thoughtful slowness that did nothing to hide his ego, “Besides the fact I’m a lawyer, I’m also a publicly known werewolf, gay as can be, in an interspecies relationship, and I’ve recently had the privilege of taking one of the few human omegas in this generation off the market. Seeing as prejudice is still in fashion, I image a good number of people wouldn’t be bothered.”

Stiles frowned at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Peter grinned, “At present? Only the animal instinct to commit murder.”

“Peter,” Chris snapped.

“He wants transparency, Christopher.”

“That doesn’t mean you should be an ass about it.”

Peter frowned, a crease of confusion in his brow as he returned his stare to Stiles. “I’m not being an ass,” he said defensively as his eyes flashed red for an instant, “I’m furious, and striving to be candid with you.”

A chill ran down Stiles’ back then, a cold trickle of understanding. “Oh my God. You’re serious.”

“Obviously,” Peter said dryly. “I did almost die yesterday, in case you missed that—Oh!”

Peter, his seat, the coffee mug, half of Stiles’ breakfast probably: it all went toppling to the floor as Stiles launched himself at the alpha.

“Stiles!?” Chris yelled, abandoning the stovetop.

But Stiles was unhurt, completely fine in Peter’s arms where the wolf had caught him as they fell. Peter, who was gasping to recover the breath Stiles had knocked out of him and clutching him back just as tight, but still so deliberately careful. Peter, who’d been poisoned. Who had nearly---

“Someone almost killed you,” Stiles blabbed into Peter’s throat. God, that thick, beautifully warm and living throat… “My alpha. You almost—they could have—”

“Shh,” Peter squeezed him close, rubbing his face in Stiles’ hair. “I’m here.”

Stiles was shaking. He wasn’t crying again—he really had hit his quota for the month last night—but holy shit, he was shaking like a leaf, damn near vibrating out of his skin. Or maybe just his heart out of his chest. There was no stopping it.

Peter rolled them over, and Stiles felt the peculiar divide between the living space’s carpet and the kitchen’s linoleum under his back. It didn’t matter, he didn’t care. All he could focus on was Peter on top of him, his body heavy and functioning and whole.

“I’m alright, sweetheart. I’m alright.”

Stiles knew that, he knew it, could see and feel it for himself, but his stupid omega heart was frantic with disbelief. He coiled his limps around his alpha and buried his face in his chest, breathing desperately as he babbled insistently over the blood pounding in his ears.

“No. You can’t. I only just got you. It’s not—I’m so, so… I need to—to just… I need to make sure…”

“Anything, darling,” Peter whispered in his ear. “Anything you need. Anything.”

“That you’re alive,” Chris interjected as his arms wrapped around the werewolf, one hand reaching to grip the side of Stiles’ face, “We just need to know you’re safe.”

Mindlessly, Stiles pressed into the palm, spared a kiss to Chris’ wrist, and immediately clung to Peter tighter. He felt Peter grunt, jostling slightly as Chris did likewise from above them.

Then he felt the first shiver of something profound make its way through Peter. The alpha let out a low, drawn out moan, and it was the closest thing to a terrified howl Stiles had ever heard a man make. When Peter went weak and limp, dropping his weight onto Stiles and trusting to Chris to manage the load, Stiles thought he might cry again after all.

They were far from perfect. But they were still _his_.


	21. Twenty-One

Peter, both the man and the beast, was positively desperate.

It wasn’t the thought of dying that did it. Well, it wasn’t _merely_ the thought of dying. It was the realization of just how close he’d come to never seeing his mates again.

His Stiles was the one who got them going. Peter honestly wasn’t even aware of his hardness until the omega was bucking up against his hips and clinging to him like his affections were the only thing keeping Peter breathing. Stiles bit into the meat of his neck with a force that was startling, and it was just enough to flip Peter’s switch from shock to the sharp side of lust.

Then there was the tearing sound of fabric rending violently apart, and he felt cool air on his back. It took Peter a moment to realize Chris had torn the shirt off his person. The other alpha touched him frantically, breathing hard and uneven as he fondled and otherwise seemed content to let Peter hump their omega to completion.

Stiles wasn’t having that though.

“Need you,” Stiles gasped wetly against his collar. “Please. Please, Peter. I need to feel you.”

He had no idea who or how they got him naked, but they managed it in record time. It was possible his jeans fared about as well as his shirt had, but Peter couldn’t be bothered to care. Not just then. His priority list began and ended with proving he was well and truly alive in the meanest, most natural way possible.

Stiles was hard and wet, but not nearly as sopping as Peter preferred him before knotting. And there was absolutely no possibility of him _not_ knotting his omega just then. Peter needed it too badly, even to the point of rushing things along.

But he wasn’t alone.

“In me! In me!” Stiles chanted, reaching down to manually get his alpha’s cock where he wanted it, “Your knot—I need it. Please, please, _please_!”

Stiles kept talking, demanding, even when Peter slid inside and immediately began pumping. The omega didn’t help out, merely held on with all his strength and panted hot encouragements into his ear.

Peter only got a handful of thrusts in before he faltered at the feel of Chris’ wide palms parting his ass. But the other alpha’s hands hesitated, just a fraction too long.

“Yes!” Peter snarled his consent against Stiles’ hair. “Fuck me! Dammit!”

Dizzyingly fast, Stiles bucked up and wrapped his legs around him, ankles locking tight at the small of Peter’s back. He released his hold on Peter’s shoulders so he could sweep his hands down his body, pawing at him just as Chris had.

For his part, Peter kept fucking him in small, furtive little thrusts as Chris bet behind and spat on his hole. Twice.

“Just do it, Chris!” Peter growled impatiently, his entirely body shaking like a leaf.

“Fuck me.” Stiles whined.

And the omega reached down and grabbed Peter’s ass with both hands, dinging his fingers in as he yanked him close and held him open.

“Fuck,” Chris hissed, sounding almost as if he were in pain.

And there was pain, certainly. Chris was an alpha and spit was a poor substitute for lube, and they were all too impatient to bother with stretching. And it didn’t fucking matter.

Chris’ fully clothed body was soon plastered to his back, sweat soaked as Chris pressed his mouth to Peter’s shoulder. He kept it there, locked on to the werewolf’s body every bit as effectively as the omega wrapped around him.

They rocked with the strength of Peter’s rolling hips, barely moving but moving enough and moving fast. They held him tight, his mates, his lovers, and pressed their faces and their mouths and their hands to his skin like breaking contact even for a moment would bring catastrophe.

It was desperate. It was hard and quick and relatively too dry. It quite hurt.

But God, did it feel good.

Peter’s knot popped in almost record time, despite it all, and the orgasm was like a breath of fresh air right after being suffocated. His entire body spasmed with the pleasure and relief, with the awareness of the blood rushing through his veins and the immense power coiled in every muscle. It hurt, just the force of it, almost as much as the dry penetration had initially.

He must have blacked out.

Opening his eyes, Peter found Stiles limp and trembling on the tile floor (save for where his head and left shoulder made it onto the carpet). There was watery-weak omega spend squishing between their bellies and he could feel the knot barely beginning to wane.

He glanced around quickly, reassured to see Chris slumped on the floor beside them. His cock hung out of his pants, limp and used, and Peter could smell and feel his seed dripping between his thighs.

Stiles cupped his face in his hands and drew him down for a quick, exhausted kiss.

“You’re alive,” the omega stated, possibly for his own benefit more than Peter’s.

“Thank fuck,” Chris sighed, closing his bloodshot eyes.

~!~

“Laura made it home safely,” Peter announced later that afternoon.

“Good,” Chris said.

He watched the wolf pause for a moment before he joined Stiles on the couch, a good foot and a half of space between them. It was better than the full couch’s length that existed between the omega and himself. Chris had never found his favorite chair, a plush leather recliner, so uncomfortably lonely before. 

Despite the sex, Stiles was still stiff and cautious with them. After cleaning up, he’d eaten breakfast silently, then announced in a stilted, numb sort of voice that he was going to “veg out” with some Parks and Rec for a while. In the three-or-so weeks they’d known him, it was the first time the TV was on without a thorough cuddle included.

Peter was right, of course. They had talked as much as was useful and said what they needed to say. Now they had to prove it with action.

The sinking feeling in Chris’ gut warned he needed to accept this as the new normal for a while.

Especially when Stiles’ gaze flicked from the TV over to Peter so shrewdly as he asked, “Just Laura? What about Braeden?”

“She’s extending her stay for a few more days,” Chris said quietly.

Stiles repositioned his legs, a cute little frown on his face. He repositioned them again.

Chris told himself to stop analyzing the omega. Stiles didn’t want his unwarranted concern, merely his respect. He didn’t need to mitigate and fend off every slightest sign of distress in his mate, even if he hadn’t known he tended to before. He just had to talk to him. Just like he did with Peter.

Peter, who was so much better and the inter-communication thing, and didn’t need the internal pep talk to keep his forward moment.

“My poisoning,” Peter explained in a passably flippant tone as he relaxed into his seat, “was most likely an attack on the pack as a whole. Braeden may not be pack, but she is very well connected with various law enforcement channels, including Hunters.”

Stiles’ frown deepened to something decidedly less cute. “Meaning what, exactly?”

Chris sighed and glared at the ceiling, “He means she’s willing to help us out and cover our asses if we need it.”

They had wanted an intelligent mate, of course, and Stiles was certainly that. He didn’t need it spelled out for him. His back went ramrod straight as he looked from one alpha to another in alarm and a tad bit of the anger they’d witnessed the previous night.

“Excuse me?” Stiles snarked, “But when did we go from the Pack being annoying little shits to suddenly sounding like a covert hit squad?”

Chris gave a heavier sigh. With more feeling. More resignation.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Peter rolled his eyes, “The preservation of our territory and our precious selves is paramount to our very nature. We have as much right to defend ourselves as anyone.”

Stiles gaped at him like he’d never really seen him clearly before, and Chris winced.

“You’re. A. Lawyer,” the omega stressed. “Report the crime! Hire a protective detail! A Private Investigator, even. That’s what _anyone_ _else_ would do!”

“But not any werewolf,” Chris interjected, keeping his voice smooth and mellow. Matter-of-fact. Unarguable.

Stiles’ lips flattening into a tense line. He repositioned his limbs fitfully, legs ending up criss-crossed and fists bunching the jeans covering his knees.

“Are you seriously telling me, right now,” Stiles addressed the floor snidely, “that both of you are okay with your Pack going vigilante?”

Chris opened his mouth to respond—not sure how, but it’d be calm and reasonable sounding—but Peter beat him to the punch with his typical confidence and none of his tact.

“It’s not vigilantism, Stiles. Its justice. We’ve done it before,” 

Chris groaned as Stiles flailed to his feet with a galvanized huff. Bless his heart, but sometimes Peter’s lack of sympathy for the wholly-human perspective was a serious pain in the ass.

Chris leaned forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees as he leveled a composed stare at the omega. He began to run interference with a calmly intoned: “Stiles—”

“No,” Stiles snapped, immediately raising a single finger in the air to effectively shush him from across the room. “No. And again. No. I may be young and inexperienced, okay, but I know that’s the kind of thing that gets local PDs contracting with Supernatural bounty hunters—” he began pacing along the coffee table, glaring fiercely at whichever alpha happened to be in his sight before he spun to pace toward the other.

“Sweetheart—” Peter sighed as Stiles paused to draw breath.

“It doesn’t end well!” the omega steamrolled over him with increasing emphasis, “Okay? This sort of thing _never_ ends well! My dad is a _cop_ , for crying out loud! Jesus!”

“Stiles—” Chris tried.

“Also, I’m pretty sure I made you both do a background check specifically to make sure I did _not_ end up mated into some sort of werewolf mafia. So no. Nope. Not happening. N to the O. _No_.”

“Stiles,” Chris said one more time, just as Peter did the same.

Inexplicably, the omega jolted to a halt. He dropped his perfect butt on the coffee table and glared at the floor between his feet.

“Can I talk now?” Chris asked mildly before Peter could open his mouth and make things worse.

“… Sure.”

“If you recall,” Chris kept his voice cool and composed, unhurried, “I’m pretty familiar with the Hunting business.”

Stiles nodded along. “You’re family,”

“Yes. Stiles, look at me,”

And he did. His sweet, perfect omega turned those bright amber eyes on him with all the frustration come to bare in one spectacularly unflattering glare. It occurred to Chris then that his own omega mother would have been beat to pulp if she’d ever looked to her mate like that. At least on some level, Chris hoped, Stiles knew was safe with him.

Taking a breath to subdue a sudden rush of emotion, Chris continued, “Sometimes, it’s easy to forget the difference between ourselves and werewolves. Sometimes it should be. But not always.”

“I know that—”

Chris interrupted with a gently raised hand. When Stiles physically bit his tongue to keep quiet, Chris almost smiled. Then he continued earnestly, “Trust me, Stiles: justice doesn’t always look the same. Bounty Hunting exists for that very reason, and it’s necessary. I’m sure your dad’s told you how impossible it is for the average cop to handle a violent werewolf.”

He paused pointedly till Stiles nodded his agreement with that statement.

“By the same values, certain allowances have to be made to account for the way werewolves operate. They’re not just their own culture, they’re a distinct species. Peter’s right that the Pack has a right to defend themselves—”

“But it doesn’t make any sense!” Stiles insisted. “If wolf packs are allowed to hunt down anyone who attacks them, then no one would be committing werewolf hate crimes. The people who do would never see a judge or a jail!”

“No, they wouldn’t.” Peter agreed nonchalantly.

Chris rubbed his temples, “Not helping, Peter,”

“This wasn’t a hate crime, Stiles.” Peter pressed on, undaunted, and Chris began to recognize the controlled anger still smoldering behind his words, “This was a deliberate attempt on my life. Given the quality of the wolfsbane, it was likely a professional hit.”

Stiles paled. “What, like… an assassination attempt?”

Peter shrugged. “Perhaps. It’s likely enough to matter,”

“What Peter is failing to explain,” Chris said tightly, “is that yes, Hunting down this bastard _is_ technically illegal, but provided things are kept quiet enough, official Hunter _and_ governing channels won’t mind letting us handle it.”

Stiles snorted, “Still sounds like vigilantism. The very definition, even,”

“Nine times out of ten, when a werewolf’s been successfully murdered—”

“Or as close to?” Stiles interjected snippily.

“Just so,” Peter smirked back at him obnoxiously.

“Most often,” Chris raised his voice to draw their attention back to the matter at hand, “The people capable of making a move like this turn out to be either rogue Hunters or dirty government agents with the right training and access to materials. Sometimes, it’s a clever werewolf, maybe even a rival pack, but the use of wolvesbane makes it unlikely in this instance. Either way, it’s not the kind of criminal Sacramento’s finest are likely to be able to handle without casualties.”

“Not to mention, if it is a Hunter or G-man gone bad, the whole world would rather we handle it quietly than it become headline news.” Peter winked, and his smile had just a bit too much fang. “No one likes bad publicity, Stiles.”

“Especially the government,” Stiles admitted drily. He didn’t look any happier though.

“We’ll be fine,” Chris assured him. “Peter and Talia will probably handle all the heavy lifting themselves, and between Braeden and I, we’ll more than be able to cover their tracks.”

Stiles eyed them both sullenly. “…You’ve really done this before?” 

Neither of them could quite meet his eye as they nodded.

“Just once,” Peter murmured. “We avenged Derek. It was a rogue Hunter.”

“But… Derek’s okay. I mean… he survived.”

“Not unscathed,”

“…Oh.”

Chris rose from the chair, suddenly enough to give Stiles a start. He crossed over to the couch and settled down directly in front of Stiles. He put his hands on each of the omega’s knees and squeezed just enough to ground himself.

 _We’ll do better_ , Peter had said. _Talk to me_ , Stiles had said.

“I haven’t been hiding it,” Chris said softly, “But I don’t want you to find out randomly and get upset that I didn’t tell you myself.”

Stiles’ lower lip trembled worrisomely. He took one of Chris’ hands and held it softly. “Tell me what?”

Chris glanced at Peter. His wolf gave a curt nod of approval and promptly turned to inspecting his cuticles.

Chris decided he might as well get it all over with in one. He began with: “When I met Peter, I was hunting him.”

Stiles recoiled, his head jerked back, but his fingers tightened the smallest bit around Chris’ wrist at the same time. It was a fascinatingly confusing reaction, but the alpha chose to focus on the fact Stiles was maintaining contact.

“Okay,” the omega said with forced pep, “I’m listening.”

Chris had to fight not to smile, despite the topic of conversation. “I came to Sacramento as backup for my sister, Kate. I was young, and stupid, and relatively spineless—”

Peter grunted in disagreement.

“Shut it,” Chris warned, before continuing seamlessly, “The point is, I was raised to be a Hunter, and in my early twenties it was the only career, the only path, I knew. I followed orders and I didn’t often question them.”

Stiles glanced between them, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “Then you met Peter?”

Chris followed his gaze to see the wolf in question smirking at them as he lounged in the corner of the couch. He looked incredibly proud of himself.

“Yeah,” Chris admitted fondly. “He helped me see that Kate was using our family’s connections to target a series law-abiding packs,”

Stiles tilted his head curiously, “But why? I mean, beside being hateful and I’m guessing crazy enough to antagonize supernatural creatures. Why the Hales specifically?”

“We’re an old pack,” Peter said, puffing out his chest, “We crossed the economical threshold into wealthy and powerful generations ago. To someone like Kate, that’s an unforgivable offense for a werewolf to commit,”

“She managed to frame and execute two well-established packs in North America before I caught on. Then I stood back and let Talia have her.”

“Two years later,” Peter slid over and pressed into Chris’ side with a purr, “He finally stopped feeling guilty enough about it to appreciate her killer’s finer qualities.”

Stiles eyes widened. “You’re kidding? You’re the one who—” he gapped at Chris and managed a hushed shriek: “You mated your sister’s killer?”

What Chris wouldn’t give to know what Stiles saw on his face then. The omega’s incredulity washed away as he stared, his full mouth going lax as his expression morphed into something resembling heartache. Heartache for Chris.

“She deserved it,” Chris affirmed, unabashedly.

Stiles swallowed hard. “For what she did to Derek?”

Chris nodded. “And others. And for more she would have done if Peter hadn’t stopped her. But those aren’t my secrets to tell,”

“I get it,”

Chris was sure he did. It was written all over his sweet, pale face, in so much sorrowful sympathy that it made Chris wish he had a different past to share with his darling omega.

But for the first time since he walked out with Laura yesterday, Stiles was looking at him again with a spark of tenderness in his eye. It wasn’t much, and it was such a very fragile spark, but it was enough for Chris to hope.

~!~

Stiles was unusually quiet the rest of the day. He wasn’t freaking out though. Just processing.

Yep. Processing. Just mulling it over.

Because no matter which way he cut it, he was mated to a killer.

Yeah, sure. His dad had taken a life or two in the line of duty—even took a bullet himself once, and hadn’t that been terrifying—and Chris promised it was justified from the perspective of someone who, really, aught to fucking know.

But Peter had killed someone. Intentionally. Premeditated and everything. And he’d gotten away with it.

Stiles was still trying decide how he felt about the wider, systemic ramifications there when he sat down for dinner at the table with his mates. Take away. Burgers. Because no one was up to cooking. Or talking, apparently.

Even Stiles.

It was beyond awkward. Stiles was used to filling any and all silences, he was an externalizer and an overall blabbermouth; but the tumbled mess of his thoughts and feelings just didn’t feel ready to be put into words. At the same dame time, it felt like there was nothing more to be said, by any of them. Sure as fuck, there couldn’t possibly be _more_ than the actual skeleton in their closet.

And yet… The air felt heavy with anticipation, like the calm before a particularly nonsensical storm. Like something wasn’t quite finished, like his brain was busy putting together a scattered puzzle without all the pieces…

All three of them jumped when Peter’s phone rang.

“Hell,” Chris slumped in his seat, dragging a hand over his face as Peter fished his phone out of his pocket.

Stiles, for his part, was busy convincing his heart not to going pounding out of his ribcage.

“What,” Peter demanded into the phone, his eyes flashing alpha red.

He’d been doing that a lot that day, those lupine eyes so quick to make an appearance. Stiles realized belated that it was probably directly correlating to the pretty bloody thoughts Peter was harboring lately.

Oh joy, and now Stiles’ appetite was good and gone.

Peter went preternaturally still suddenly, the phone creaking in his grip. His eyes didn’t flash this time, but shifted fully to maintain the power of his wolf. Stiles sat up straight as he noticed the tips of his ears peak into points and the beginnings of fur darkening his face and the back of his hands. The claws came out in the same moment Peter began growling, soft and menacing.

“Peter,” Chris called his name in a rough, no-nonsense tone that made Stiles’ inner omega feel small and nervous.

Just like that, Peter snapped out of it. One second, he was shifting, the next he was fully man again. And he was pissed.

“Thank you for letting me know, Alan. Keep me informed of any developments. Please.” Despite the wording, Peter’s tone requested nothing. It sounded more like a threat. Peter ended the call slapped the cell on the table like it was a dumb rock and not an expensive and vital piece of technology.

Chris eyed the phone with the same concern Stiles did. “Alan Deaton?”

“The clinic’s private servers were compromised.”

Stiles felt something disquietingly like fear coil low in his belly. He swallowed hard and ventured: “Didn’t you say he was the pack’s primary physician?”

“And a long-time friend of the family’s.” Peter gritted through his teeth.

Stiles took in Peter’s fist gripping his napkin like he wished it were the hilt of a knife, or maybe because he was hiding claws. Then he turned to study the stony look on Chris’ face. They were both so still. Like they were ready for a fight.

“They’re going to try again,” Stiles stated it numbly. “Aren’t they.”

Neither alpha answered. Then again, they didn’t really need to.

Stiles let out a loud breath and got to his feet. Immediately, there was a ruckus of chair legs scraping and plates and the even the table shifting as both alphas lurched to follow him.

“Woah, boys,” Stiles held up his hands to fend off their hair-triggered concern. He was impressed with himself when the limbs remained steady, not a tremor in sight. “Relax. I’m just going upstairs.”

Chris put his hands in his pockets and glared down at the table, for all the world like an embarrassed tween caught in full-blown angst.

Peter pushed in his chair with more force than strictly necessary. “I’ll come with you,”

Chris’ head lifted with a deep frown. “He doesn’t need a babysitter in his own home—”

“Actually…,” Stiles cut him off.

Both alphas snapped their faces toward him and the sudden attention, and the pure intensity of it, nearly made Stiles stumble. Nearly. Instead, he just sort of swayed, then turned it into a weird little backward two-step toward the stairs.

He gesteured with his thumb over his shoulder and suggested: “Maybe you both should come help me pack.”

Chris’ face turned gray and Peter might as well have turned to stone.

“Pack?” Peter asked, blinking slowly.

“Yeah,” Stiles repeated his little two-step-fumble with a beckoning wave, “bags. Probably just one. Each, I mean. That should be enough, right?”

“Stiles,” Chris put his hands on the back of his chair with deliberate slowness. “What are you talking about? Exactly.”

Stiles shrugged, like it was obvious. Because come on, it should be.

Peter cleared his throat and crossed his arms tightly before whispering, “You want to leave us, don’t you.”

Stiles almost guffawed, the idea was so _ludicrous_ , but one look at the broken look at Chris’ face killed the impulse. Killed it dead.

“No, you idiots,” he dropped his hands till they slapped on his thighs in a way that satisfactorily emphasized how abso-fucking-lutely _done_ he was with the absurdity for one night.

Said idiots shared a quick, wide-eyed glance like his insulting them was more alarming than the phone call that just interrupted dinner.

“We need to pack for like, two nights—maybe three,” At the continued lack of comprehension on their stupidly handsome faces, Stiles huffed and started ticking off fingers. “Jesus. Okay,”

One. “So far, Peter’s been poisoned but it didn’t take,”

Two. “We’ve established the Bad Guy’s almost definitely well supplied, possibly a hired professional,”

They were gaping at him now. Great.

Three. “Werewolves—and our pack in particular—have a history that clearly dictates what should happen next,”

By now, he’d gained enough traction, he was pretty much yelling at them with no time for comments in between points.

Four. “And now, Bad Guy’s either smart or well-connected enough to hack into the secure files of one of the few omega specialists in the entire county, who, oh yeah, just _happens_ to be magically gifted and a known affiliate of an entire freaking Pack of werewolves.”

And five. “And in case you missed it: he’s got to know he’s blown his element of surprise and he. Is. Still Coming. At. Us!”

The alphas shared another glance, still gaping like the attractive idiots they apparently were.

Stiles lost his patience.

“Oh. My. Gawd! Guys. Okay. Ready? Here’s what’s happening: we, as in all three of us, are packing bags and going to Talia’s. Safety in numbers, right? Right! Same game plan as last week, only instead of fighting Peter’s possible insanity, we’re fighting a literal flesh-and-blood baddie. Okay? Are you with me yet, or do I need to slow down?”

And they just kept staring at him.

Stiles slowed down. He forced himself to take a breath. Then continued with all the considerable sarcasm his skinny ass could muster.

“Fine. Where did I lose you? What part of the plan was in any conceivable way unclear?”

“I think,” Peter said cautiously, “I might be in love with you, Stiles.”

“Oh.” Stiles blinked. That was not where he was going with this, definitely not one of the many reactions he expected, but okay then. “That’s nice. So we’re all on the same page now, right?”

Chris laughed, the sound loud and shocking and maybe the tiniest bit relieved. Or hysterical. Stiles really couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, baby. Let’s go.”


	22. Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I FINALLY got around to this part of the story! I've been trying to find the best way to bring this detail from Chapter 3 back into play, because I love the symbolism inherent to it, and for a while there I really wasn't sure if it'd work out. SO HAPPY it did though. Hope you guys enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it.

So living in close quarters with Talia was very nearly as awful as Chris had always suspected.

“Good morning, Christopher,”

For the third morning in a row, Talia was the first person in the house to wake and intrude on his otherwise peaceful morning. Chris wasn’t normally so prone to rising with the dawn himself, but he’d resigned himself to getting little [read: no] meaningful rest the moment they’d packed their bags for the interim of this debacle. At least this way, he got to see Peter and Cora off to work and grab a half hour of peace and quiet with his coffee. Or that had been the idea, before Talia began joining him.

“You know,” she said testily as she peered into the nearly empty coffee pot, “I’m glad to have you guys stay with us, of course, but perhaps starting a second pot after you and Peter drain the one I have on a timer wouldn’t be too much to ask for,”

Chris gave her a tight smile over his mug. “Sure. Once you actually bother to ask,”

Her answering smile was just as tight, with more glare. “Christopher.”

“Talia,”

Not for the first time, Chris was reminded of the startlingly close similarities between men and wolves. He might not have a true inner animal influencing his actions, but every part of Chris, human and alpha and all, was intimately aware that he’d been uprooted. This wasn’t his home, not his territory, not the place his mates should be safest and most comfortable. And he was surrounded by literal wolves who could sniff out his every emotion and secret, one of whom was not above being remarkably petty and passive aggressive.

No wonder he couldn’t relax enough to sleep in the three nights they’d been with the pack.

Talia’s left brow lifted sardonically, and he hated how much it reminded him of Peter. “Well. Clearly, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed…”

“Wrong bed,” he replied simply.

Talia ripped the lid off the coffee tin with far more force than necessary.

Chris was human, with a problematic background, and mated to one of the most removed wolves in her pack. He was her pack, yes, but only just. What he wasn’t, was a wolf with the built-in need to fall in line with his pack leader.

He _was_ just dominant enough for it to be a problem if the situation dragged on long enough.

As the coffee began dripping, Talia braced her hands on the counter with her back to him. In a cool, measured voice, she informed him, “I’m taking Braeden with me this morning to follow up with cook,”

“That’s good,” he lowered his mug and adopted her tone.

He meant it though. He and Braeden had already spoken with the owner of the Thai place that had delivered the poisoned meal to Peter’s office, within the hour of Chris canceling his credit card. They’d had no recollection of anyone strange being in the kitchen, and without a warrant they had refused to give them contact info for any staff, though they admitted the cook from that day would be back at work by today. Chris wasn’t holding his breath though. The restaurant didn’t even have working security cameras.

And whoever was targeting them was good. Three days after Peter was in the hospital, and they still didn’t even have an ID on the bastard.

God, but Chris hoped they had this figured out before Stiles’ next Heat hit next week.

To that end, Chris offered: “Do you have an angle for me to work?”

She turned to consider him shrewdly.

Her stare made him uncomfortable. Well, even moreso than he was. He was so used to writing Talia off to the corner of his mind as the irritating sister-in-law she was. It was always so cringe-worthy when he found himself forced to acknowledge the authority and power she wore as Pack Alpha like it was natural state of being.

He stared at her face, at the unusually pronounced hollows of her cheeks and the exhausted lines around her eyes, and reminded himself he wasn’t the only one stressed the fuck out by this situation.

His tone didn’t quite warm up, but at least the offer sounded more genuine. “How can I help?”

She nodded to herself, a single, slight bob of her chin. Then she abruptly turned back to preparing her beverage. “The best thing you can do right now is take care of yourself. Get out of the house for a bit. Unwind.”

She possibly had a point. Chris rolled his neck and frowned at the creak of tension pulling there.

“Maybe take that omega of yours out and get him to spend some energy before he literally starts climbing my walls,”

Just like that, Chris’ stretched sympathies snapped back. He well and truly understood now how Peter had finally come to blows with her over this.

“ _That omega,_ ” he snapped quietly, “has a name.”

Talia half-turned so he didn’t miss her eyes rolling. “I know Stiles’ name, Chris—”

“Just like you know he’s not a child who needs to be micromanaged and exercised on a playground?”

Since that night he brought Peter home from the hospital, Stiles had started vocally and immediately pointing out his and Peter’s own omega-condescension. It was proving a steep learning curve, and possibly even quicker to climb precisely because they’d had Talia’s more overt attitude to contend with. Seeing how Talia affected Stiles, almost every minute they were in a room together, really threw things into perspective for Chris and Peter both.

It certainly made Chris more aware of his behavior and eager to prove himself to the omega.

Talia, damn her, was severely lacking in that perspective.

“I know he’s not a child,” she insisted, unconcerned, “but you and Peter are certainly spoiling him like one. It’s no wonder he’s not getting over his anxiety—”

Chris laughed disbelievingly, “You are not seriously blaming our approach for his pre-existing condition…”

Again, she was rolling her eyes at him. “Of course not. I’m simply pointing out that most omegas grow out of childhood anxiety disorders when they mate, for good reason. If you gave him the discipline he clearly needs—”

“I’m not doing this with you right now.” Chris shoved away from the table and scooped up his mug, heading for the porch.

Talia sighed, for all the world like a disappointed parent.

He was tempted to throw his coffee at her. She was a werewolf. She’d probably dodge it, heal instantly if she didn’t— no. It’d be a waste of perfectly good coffee. So Chris sat himself down on the front steps of the Pack House and stubbornly tried to enjoy his drink.

He found himself habitually glancing at his watch. Waiting. For Talia to get the hell out her own house. For Stiles to wake up. For Peter to come back early from work and tell him they could, miraculously, go home because the danger had been dealt with.

Chris hated waiting. He hated being idle when there was a problem that needed solving. Preferably with a smoking gun.

Stiles joined him, settling on the step beside him in his sweatpants and Batman tee, with bed-tousled hair in every direction. His eyes were bright and alert though, and seemed more prepared to face the day than Chris had felt since before Derek came around filling his head with dramatic ideas.

“Hi,” Stiles said, scooting close. He was so beautiful and charmingly sweet.

“Hey,” Chris abandoned his mug on the porch deck in favor of wrapping the arm around Stiles.

Stiles gave a wide yawn that was clearly just for show and dropped his head on Chris’ shoulder. “So what’s got you brooding on the porch so early in the morning, alpha mine?”

Chris kissed his crown and sighed.

“Oof. That bad, huh?”

“Just Talia being Talia.”

“Ah…”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Or maybe just an exhausted one, where Chris was concerned. Stiles kept shifting, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, or the seam of Chris’ pant leg. It was unusual for Stiles to remain so quiet when he was so restless, but then again, it was an unusual situation they were in.

Chris didn’t question it further. He held his omega and managed to enjoy the tiny sliver of peace Stiles was going him as they waited for whatever came next. Waiting wasn’t too bad, he decided, not when his omega was keeping him company. 

And then the waiting ended with a furious animal roar that doubtless woke the entire pack:

“STILES!!!”

Chris jumped in alarm.

Stiles went preternaturally still, holding his breath as he sat frozen on the porch steps.

“OMEGA!” Talia screamed again.

Slowly, eyes impossibly wide and utterly void of innocence, Stiles lifted his head to meet Chris’ eye.

And Chris… blinked? Breathed? Existed in stunned incomprehension?

“Where is he!?” Talia growled, the sound of her stomping somehow drowning out the chaos of many wolves hustling to alertness in response to her volume and ire.

“What,” Chris whispered, “did. You. Do.”

Stiles gave a strained grin. “Well… depending on your perspective, I either made a point, or possibly, committed a crime.”

“Stiles.” Chris held his fist to his chin in thought as he braced himself with a frown. “Just tell me what you did.”

Stiles turned his stubborn expression toward the lawn, avoiding his eye.

“Stiles.”

“I may have switched her shampoo with one or two of her other grooming potions.”

Chris took a breath, listening as the first of the pack came across their Alpha to a chorus of gasps and giggles.

“Shut your mouths and find me that omega!” Talia growled.

Chris went to grip Stiles’ shoulder and demand: “What the _hell_ —”

But the omega was already on his feet, dangling Chris’ car keys from his fingers with a cheeky grin. “Wanna get out of here for a bit?”

“Go,” The living room window opened and Erica leaned out, shooing them. “Get out of here. Give her a few hours to calm down—”

Stiles grabbed his hand, gently tugging Chris toward the car as he asked her, “I guess it worked pretty well, huh?”

Erica gaped at him, “Uh, yeah… she’d freakin’ bald!”

Chris felt himself jerk as Stiles stopped tugging, and astonished expression on his face.

From inside the house, Chris recognize Braeden’s voice cackle with surprised mirth.

“ _Bald_!?” Stiles squeaked, a mischievous sort of glee spreading across his face.

Then Talia’s growl was less than a room away, and Chris’ brain finally caught up.

“Run, omega, run!” Braeden chortled, with just enough alarm to make Stiles go pale.

Without another moment to lose, Chris tossed his omega over his shoulder and raced to the car.

~!~

Peter found it was next to impossible to do anything productive at work this week. He simply couldn’t be bothered reviewing contracts or playing nice on video conferences while wild animal inside him kept pacing with the need to hunt.

The wolf and Peter were one and the same. They wanted blood. They wanted their territory secure again. They wanted to go home. Everything else was falling further and further down the priority list with every passing moment.

And he wasn’t the only one.

“I submitted for an emergency leave of absence,” Cora informed him by mid-morning. “For both of us.”

Peter growled. “I don’t recall asking you to do that me,”

“You didn’t need to.”

“I did.” She folded her arms, her own alpha eyes flashing. “For the Pack, not for you. We have more important things demanding our attention right now.”

The wolf part of Peter’s soul perked up and fairly howled in eagerness. He felt his claws pricking at his fingertips and realized it was all the justification the rest of his office really needed.

“Fine. Tell me you have something for us to do then,”

She smirked and jerked her chin toward the window and his prime downtown view. “Braeden just called. Her friend in the FBI field office traced the food order to the Starbucks across the freaking street.”

“Dammit,” Peter hissed, hurrying to collect his things and fucking _go_. “They were watching us.”

“That’s what I figured. Mom’s already on her way.”

Fifteen minutes later, Peter and Cora where waiting politely, if impatiently, seated at the coffee bar with free lattes while the manager made a copy of the store’s security recordings from last week. The staff already swore they recalled no suspicious customers, heartbeats steady all the while, but the manager recognized Peter for the neighboring lawyer he was, and a few of the barista’s knew Cora. That was plenty to convince the Starbucks team to be as helpful as humanly possible.

It was startling how quickly one could get things done with a nice suit and a little flash of fang.

By the time Talia sat down across from him, Peter was already plugging the surveillance flash drive into his laptop.

Peter paused, quirking his head at his sister’s peculiar fashion choice. He took a sniff at the gray and blue scarf atop Talia’s head, recognizing the scent ingrained in it, and smirked. “I had no idea you and Isaac were into trading accessories, dear sister,”

Braeden, sliding in beside Talia, snorted.

“I’m just borrowing it,” Talia assured him, stiffly. “Have you spoken to the staff?”

“They’ve been predictably helpful,” Peter raising his drink in salute. “Complimentary refreshments for our ordeal, and full access to the relevant security tapes. That’s as far as it goes.”

“More than I expected,” Cora admitted, sipping at her latte.

Braeden dragged her own computer onto the table. “Don’t suppose you have another copy for us to study?”

Peter turned over the flash drive practically before she finished speaking. “Already downloaded. I’m on the day of the attack, but you can start earlier in the week.”

Talia folded her arms sternly and glared at the screen over Braeden’s shoulder, studious and silent. Goodness, but she was in even a fouler mood than yesterday.

“Remind me again why we’re not doing this at home?” Cora complained as she stared at the mundanity displayed on Peter’s screen.

Talia huffed. Peter thought her saw her left eye twitch.

Braeden bit back a smirk. “It’s good for some people to get out of the house for a bit.”

“Who’s holding down the fort?” Peter prodded, eyes narrowing.

“Derek’s home with the betas.”

“Wipe the scowl off your face, brother,” Talia chimed in testily, “You have nothing to fret about. Your omega’s being kept perfectly safe and coddled by your mate.”

Peter bristled. “They’re both my mate, actually. And I wasn’t fretting until you suggested they weren’t at home,”

Talia lifted her chin high as she watched the screen, not bothering to acknowledge his comment with so much as a glance.

“Talia,” Peter pressed, his attention for once redirected from the all important hunt. “Where are my mates?”

“How would I know. They’re _your_ mates, Peter. I think we’ve established I have no say in regard to them.”

Braeden cleared her throat, and when he met her eye she gave a subtle shake of her head. “Like I said: it’s good to get out of the house for a bit.”

The only reason Peter let it go was because Braeden gave him a mischievous wink when Talia wasn’t looking. It sparked his curiosity, certainly, but also settled his paranoia enough to get back to the task at hand.

None of them spoke for the next couple hours. Not until Talia stiffen with a growl, staring at the security recording with recognition and fear in her eyes.

~!~

Stiles was elated. He was exuberant. Joyous. Downright stunned and impressed with himself. 

“I mean, seriously!?” he cried, laughing again at the results of his hairbrained scheme—hehehe. _Hair_ brained. “I thought for sure _, for sure_ , that it’d only give her a couple hairless patches, at best, it was so diluted by the shampoo! I mean, Come. On. Even products peddled to the supernatural tend follow basic rules of chemistry.”

“Just curious,” Chris said thoughtfully from the driver’s seat, “How strong did you think a potion would have to be to keep a _werewolf’s_ body hair practically nonexistent?”

Stiles’ formed a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. “Oh my god! I really turned her bald! Like completely, totally smooth-as-a-baby’s-butt bald! Hahahaha!”

As Stiles succumbed to peels of laughter yet again, Chris parked the car. The alpha was, despite himself, also chuckling with renewed mirth.

He really had planned to just mess with Talia a little. Maybe not so drastically, but he couldn’t say this was an unwanted, or even unwarranted, outcome. He’d set out to make a point, to give back a little of the aggravation she’d been ladling onto his plate since the moment he’d met her. And he had certainly done that.

And the best part? Chris wasn’t even mad.

It was what Stiles secretly prayed for, didn’t dare expect. He expected punishment, like any omega who dared harm an alpha, even in such a superficial way.

Instead, Chris rushed him to safety and calmly asked for details. Then he took him through the drive-through at Dunkin Donuts and let him order everything he wanted. Since Stiles was dressed in pajamas and neither of them had shoes on, they ate their breakfast in the park, sitting on a small creek bridge with their toes in the water just for the hell of it.

In all the chaos and stress of the past while, it was nothing short of peaceful and lovely. They laughed and flirted, and hypothesized how long it might take for Talia to grow her hair back, talked about how Peter might react, and then they laughed some more. It was wonderful.

And now they were home. Their home. Not Talia’s.

Stiles wished they were home to stay.

“Ten minutes,” Chris said as he clicked the button to open the garage. “Go get dressed, grab the mail and another pillow if you really need it that badly, then we’re out.”

“Yes, sir!” Stiles promptly saluted before scampering out the open garage and toward mailbox.

There were two bills, some junk mail, and a remarkably solid, if rather small parcel in discreet brown packaging. The package had no name on it, simply a business return address and their own. With everything going on, Stiles was immediately suspicious. He turned the package over in his hand and immediately saw the sticker holding the seam together: A tastefully gold embossed Ω.

Gingerly tracing the symbol with a finger, Stiles returned to the garage.

“Hey, Chris?”

“Yeah?” The alpha was checking out guns from the glass vaults lining the garage, fitting a series of select weapons and ammunition into an intimidating duffel bag as he went.

Stiles stared at the bag, wondering if he’d noticed it before, and why only now Chris’ business as an arms dealer seemed so disconcerting. For crying out loud, it wasn’t anything new; Chris had given him a whole tore of his inventory his first day there. Hell, Stiles even grew up with guns in his dad’s house.

When Stiles remained quiet, Chris looked up from inspecting a magazine.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Stiles shook himself. “Nothing. Nothing, just… ugh. There’s this package,”

He held it up, the embossed sticker front and center. He was so ready to see Chris freak out in alarm, like he’d recognize a grenade through the dull brown wrapping. Stiles took a half step to the side, ready to throw the parcel as far as his skinny—

Chris’ face split into a shit-eating grin, and he fairly purred in satisfaction, “So it’s finally here,”

The urge to throw evaporated, and Stiles slumped a little in relief. God, he felt silly.

“So what is it?” Stiles mocked, damn near skipping over to Chris’ side.

Chris set down the magazine and leaned his hip against the counter. With his well-built arms folded so the sleeves of his t-shirt strained, and the sneaky grin under his unkempt beard, the alpha looked unfairly attractive. For a moment, the strength in those arms was all Stiles could think about.

Ten minutes. Grab and go. There wasn’t time for Stiles’ silly omega hormones to be assuaged. Such a shame.

“Go ahead an open it,” Chris nodded toward the box.

He didn’t really need another set of clothes that second, Stiles reasoned, half his attention on opening the package while the other half eyed tuft of salt-and-pepper hair that just barely peaked out of Chris’ collar. Ten minutes wasn’t long enough to knot, but it could be enough for a blow job….

The brown paper fell to the garage floor and Stiles found himself admiring a beautiful, stained wood box. His name—his _real_ name—was carved into it’s top with masterful workmanship. Stiles’ thumb brushed the curling leg of the M with sudden anticipation.

He glanced at Chris, mouth open.

The alpha looked incredibly smug. “Open it,”

The rest of the mail joined the wrapping on the ground as Stiles fumbled the thin but strong metal latch.

“Oh. Wow.” Stiles whispered, overwhelmed.

Inside, neatly nestled on black velvet, was a beautiful collar. It was a deep, shiny red that gleamed like gemstones as the light hit it, with thin gold lines intricately declaring his alpha’s names. Chris Argent. Peter Hale. Chris’ name was clearly abbreviated for balance’s sake, the two names elegantly framing the black metal of the clasps. There was no ownership tag connected to the clasps, though, but a solid looking lock of similar metal that was, upon close inspection, entirely ornamental.

Stiles touched the lock with a shaking finger and it was like dosing himself with a shot of aphrodisiac.

“It’s not real?”

“The lock? No,” Chris eased a little closer, admiring the workmanship himself. “It’s purely symbolic. All the sentimentality of tradition, but functionally progressive. You decide when and were you wear it. Always.”

“You…,” Stiles swallowed thickly and tore his gaze from the jewelry to stare at Chris, “You ordered this? For me? But…. When? This kind of collar, it’s customized, I… I don’t… this must have cost a fortune. When did you order this?”

Inexplicably, Chris blushed. Stiles realized he’d never seen the man turn red for any reason other than physical exertion before.

“Honestly? Yeah… it was pretty penny, but hardly unreasonable for quality.”

That didn’t explain the blush though. Stiles mind raced, leaping to the most logical conclusion based on what he knew about collars from other omegas and years of unrestricted access to the internet.

“Christopher!” Stiles gasped, delightedly scandalized. “Do you buy a custom collar before you even met your omega!?”

The embarrassed flush deepened, starting to creep down the alphas neck beneath his beard.

“You did!” Stiles crowed, hugging the open box to his chest tight. “What if I had said no!? You would have wasted all that money!”

Chris shrugged, still red faced. “It didn’t seem to matter at the time.” 

Stiles stared down at his new collar—the omega equivalent of a wedding band!—and admired the utterly useless, key-less, lock again. They hadn’t even known him when they’d chosen it! His mates really had gone into the search for an omega with every intention of letting him have his freedom.

More then any talking, more than any irritation and defense they’ve shown toward Talia, this was it. This was the proof of exactly the kind of alphas Stiles had chosen. For the first time in days, Stiles felt a rush of confidence and relief in his decision to leave The Halfway House with these two alphas.

Chris looked off to the side, visibly fighting of his flustered affectation while he avoided eye contact. That’s how Stiles caught him so off guard when he grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans and yanked the alpha forward into a hot and filthy kiss. The collar and its beautiful box got crushed between their chests as Stiles dug his fingers into his mate’s hair and Chris groped him back.

“I,” Stiles panted against Chris’ lips, “am,” another kiss, “going,” a nip, “to,” a lick, “fall,” a good, hard suck on a full lip as he groaned: “soooo in love with you idiots.”

Chris chuckled against his mouth, the sound deep and rumbling in way that made the omega whine.

And then a voice interrupted more effectively than a bucket of ice water.

“Well, isn’t he just darling,”

Chris froze, hands suddenly bruising as they tossed Stiles behind him. For the rest of his life, Stiles would never forget the stunned horror in his alpha’s voice as he addressed the trespasser.

“Father?”


	23. Twenty-Three

It happened so fast. Stiles barely had a chance to take in the sight of the old, balding man and the four black-clad lackeys with him before one of them had shot Chris. Chris didn’t even cry out, he just grabbed at his chest as he fell forward.

Stiles didn’t scream. Couldn’t. He stared, shocked, at his still alpha and didn’t breathe.

Then one of the flunkies had him by the arm, and all Stiles could do was hug whatever he happened to be holding like a lifeline and fumble his way over to the stereotypical black SUV that had cut grooves across the front lawn. The shoved him in the back of vehicle and a second latter dropped Chris’ body beside him.

On his back. Where there was no blood. Only a dart sticking out of his chest.

“Drugged, not dead.” Stiles whispered to himself. “He’s not dead.”

One of the two bad guys who had climbed in with them snorted in amusement. “Stupid omega, course he’s not dead.”

“Now, now,” the old man said from the front seat as his third Black-Ops wannabe got behind the wheel, “Be nice to the boy, none of this is his fault. It’s only to be expected,” the man careened around to smile at Stiles, for all the world like a kindly grandfather, “I’m sure such violence and drama is quite a shock for such a sweet young thing. Don’t you worry, omega. Just do as you’re told and you’ll be just fine.”

Something important and vital in the back of Stiles’ mind thawed out then. Finally. He realized the old man—Chris’ father, Gerard—was right: Stiles was clearly in shock. Naturally. That explained so much.

The very first thing Stiles did when he snapped out of it was cry and cling to Chris’ unconscious body. No. Not cry. He fucking wailed. Gerard and one of the men laughed, while another made a lame attempt to pull Stiles into his lap so he could help him “calm down,” but Stiles only wailed louder and clung harder till Gerard order them to leave him alone.

The second thing Stiles did, once he’d calmed the theatrics to less interesting whimpers and shakes, was reach in his pocket and mute his phone. He used Chris’ body to hide the action. It was beyond reassuring to know it was there, that they hadn’t taken it from him when he’d had his stunned head up his ass.

The third immediate action was to pull the dart out of Chris’ sternum. He tucked it into his pocket beside the phone and was insanely grateful for his taste in ridiculously baggy sweatpants.

And then he found himself wasting the rest of the drive genuinely crying into Chris’ shirt, praying, and biding his time for the right opportunity.

~!~

Gerard Argent. Gerard fucking Argent.

“I told you,” Derek growled as he paced the length of the dining room. “I fucking told you he wouldn’t stay retired for long. I _told you_ killing Kate would bite us in the ass!”

“Relax, Derek,” Peter sighed, “He hasn’t killed me yet,”

“No.” Talia said impatiently, “He’s just actively trying to.”

“Well, good new is,” Braeden entered the room with her phone still in hand, the screen still lit. “there’s no sign of him or his men hanging around the rest of the pack. Not at work, school, or home. I think it’s safe to say this is personal. I’d have no problem letting the betas going back to business as usual.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck and hated the words that came out of his mouth next. “That’s fine, but Chris and Stiles need to stay here a few more days.”

“Agreed.” Derek and Braeden said as one.

Talia huffed. “Fine. But you and Christopher and need to keep that omega in check.”

“Just two more days, Talia.” Peter sniffed.

Braeden smirked. “Then he’ll be—”

“Don’t,” Derek warned.

“Out of your hair!”

Sadly, even Peter couldn’t stop himself from snickering. It did him no favors.

“You know what. No.” Talia jabbed her finger at him accusingly. “You and Chris can’t be trusted to control your omega. If he’s staying in my house, I reserve the right to put him in his place.”

Red hot anger surged through Peter and he jumped to his feet, growling. “No.”

“Then he’s not coming back here.”

“Mom?” Derek frowned at her, “Stiles is _pack_ ,”

“An _omega_ in _my_ pack,” Talia stressed, “Everything in me and all that I am is designed to keep him safe and well, alongside _and_ within the pack as a whole. It only works because we each know our place and fulfill our roles. Even humans have this instinct, that’s why dynamics exist, even across species!”

Peter hated the prick of truth his wolf mind recognized in her words. He hated it even more, man and wolf combined, when he considered the mere idea of Stiles being forced to submit to anyone beside himself and Chris. Not Braeden. Not Derek. Certainly not Talia.

Not ever.

“The answer’s no, Talia,” he said with finality.

She recognized it in him instantly. Her back stiffened and she looked heartbroken. “Peter… I can’t protect an omega who’s more likely to run _from_ me than run _to_ me.”

That was the crux of it, Peter realized with a start. There was a serious trust issue woven into their pack. Certainly, Peter knew he could trust his sister with his life, with his mates’ lives. Chris knew it. She’d been there from the beginning, when Chris had turned his back on the Argents and enabled them to slaughter Kate. They trusted her to defend them with her every breath, to defend Chris when no other werewolf would, and his and Peter’s love for each other.

They trusted her.

They also lived a whole town away. They attended pack events only occasionally, and generally made no small amount of noise about not enjoying her company. Similarly, Talia called Peter for legal advice, if she called at all, but never to shoot the shit with her brother.

They trusted each other with the big things. Not the small.

But Stiles didn’t have the experience or history with Talia necessary to trust her when the shit hit the fan. He had no reason to see past her conservative views and omega rhetoric. Unlike Chris and Peter, Stiles had no personal reason to seek her protection when he needed it.

Exactly like right now. There was a target on their backs, and instead of remaining firmly inside, Stiles had orchestrated a scheme against her and anticipated running away to stay clear of her. Now. When the submissive and vulnerable members of the pack, human and wolf alike, should be seeking her out for comfort and protection.

That sort of failing could be crippling to an alpha like Talia.

The epiphany hit him like they tend to. All of a sudden and painfully. He fell back into his chair at the table, staring at Talia.

He watched the understanding rock through her with similar force. She placed a hand over her mouth, stunned.

“Okay,” he said calmly, fishing out his phone. “Fine. We’ll go to hotel tonight—”

“What?” Derek glared back and forth between them. “You guys can’t be on your own right now.”

“I agree,” Braeden said stiffly. “Argent’s got at least half his old Hunter hit squad with him, maybe more. The safest place for all of you is here.”

“And Stiles isn’t coming back here if Talia’s going to make unreasonable demands,” Peter said calmly.

“Unreasonable!?” Talia scoffed. “Peter, just what do you think might happen if Argent and his goons busted down our door and took managed to take you and Chris out? Or hell, just sufficiently distract you!? Stiles _won’t_ seek me out. He won’t, Peter. He just won’t.”

“And who’s fault is that?!” Peter snarled. “No matter who tells you otherwise, you refuse to believe your words and attitudes are hurtful and demeaning to him! Of course, he distrusts you!”

“That’s not the issue, here—”

“Isn’t it?”

Talia’s jaw twitched with how tightly it clenched. “Fine. I’ll help you hunt down Argent, for attacking my brother, but then you leave.”

“Mom!”

“It’s not up for discussion, Derek,” she shut him down without looking away from Peter. “I can’t have you in my pack without confidence that your omega can do as he’s expected during times of crisis.”

Peter saw the decision coming, but it still hurt. To be fair, he could see where she was coming from, and he saw how hard it was on her. Talia had been a constant in all his life, and now was only the fifth time he’d ever seen her cry.

“Alright,” Peter nodded.

He unlocked his phone and called Chris as he made to leave the room. He would go upstairs and grab his and his mate’s things from the guestroom, then he would meet them—

“Why hello, Peter.” a cheery, aged voice said in his ear.

Peter froze. His feet on the floor, the heart in his chest, everything.

“I was just asking my son after you,” Gerard Argent said conversationally.

“Peter?” Braeden asked softly.

“It’s him,” Talia growled quietly.

“Speak of the devil and he will appear,” Gerard quoted, and for a moment Peter wondered if he’d somehow heard Talia. But no. No, this was Gerard Argent he was talking to. Peter was the devil in his mind.

“Where’s Chris? Stiles?”

“Oh, they’re perfectly safe,”

Peter growled, the phone creaking as he squeezed it tight.

“I wanted to do you the courtesy,” Gerard said jovially, “you never gave me, and let you know upfront who was responsible for taking the light of your life away from you. Happy hunting, mutt.”

The call disconnected, Chris’ name and number blinking on the screen a final time before Peter crushed the device between his claws.

Then he turned to see Talia, eyes fiery red and fangs bared. Livid. Murderous. Ready. So like his own in that moment, no doubt.

“We’ll gut him,” Talia promised.

Peter believed her. Even if they wreaked havoc on one another’s peace and happiness, Talia and Peter could hunt seamlessly together for eternity if they had to.

~!~

The moment he saw the dart gun, Chris knew two things: that they were serious trouble, and that he was going to wake up restrained in some dark, dank basement somewhere where he’d most like never see the light of day. It was Gerard’s M.O., straight out of the tried and true Hunter’s playbook.

When he opened his eyes, he knew immediately that he’d been wrong.

He was in a bed, the sheets clean and crisp and pale green to match the flowing curtains and quaint country-style decoration of the room. There were canopy drapes hanging from the bedposts, so shear and pale a green they were nearly white.

And sitting on the bed beside him, haloed in sunlight, was Stiles, and nothing else mattered. 

Chris frowned up to the omega. “What did he hit me with?” His tongue felt thick, mind still foggy, and his word slurred, but Stiles understood him.

Stiles scratched his nose awkwardly, his eyes darting to the side, “No idea. But you’ve been out for hours.”

“Huh,” Chris sat up carefully, genuinely surprised to not feel any pain beyond a bruised knee. “I thought maybe he killed me,”

“Oh, God, me too!” Stiles threw his arms around his neck with an uncharacteristic whimper, squeezing tight and mumbling into his throat, “It wasn’t till they had us in the van I even realized there was no blood!”

“It was very touching,” his father commented

Chris stiffened in Stiles’ hold. He lifted his face from the omega’s hair and craned his neck to glare where Gerard sat. Tucked away in the corner. Unobtrusive. Watchful. Creepy. At least that part of the scenario was predictable.

Stiles whined as Chris’ arms tightened painfully on him. Chris eased his hold to something less harming, if still desperately snug, and shushed the omega distractedly. His eyes never strayed from the snake in the room.

“What do you want, Gerard?” 

His old man smiled like he was happy to see him. “He’s a sweet little thing, Christopher. Good for you.”

“What.” Chris bit out, “Do. You. Want.”

Gerard considered them shrewdly, nodding to himself. “I must say, you surprised me. After so much disappointment and so many years, you finally managed to do something right.”

“Cut the shit,” Chris pushed Stiles firmly behind him as he made to get to his feet, but he miscalculated the effects of the drug they’d used on him. He barely got his feet on the floor before he felt himself sway, just slightly. He settled back down, ass on the bed firmly and pointedly in front of Stiles, with every outward impression of physical capability and control.

Gerard was only human, after all. Chris knew how to hid the shaking in his compromised legs from even a werewolf’s keen eyes.

Unexpectedly, Stiles helped. The omega scurried up against his back instantly, supporting him as his slender arms wrapped around Chris’ shoulders. Chris didn’t even mind the clinging, sure it might hamper his mobility, but the drug was already doing that; at least Stiles was firm and warm against him, enough to keep Chris upright instead of faceplanting in front of the bastard who’d abducted them.

Gerard pointed his finger at Stiles with a pleased grin, “See, Christopher? That right there’s a fine omega. He’s not even bred yet, and he’s already so nurturing and docile,”

Chris’ stomach rolled with nausea that was in no way related to being drugged. “Just get to the fucking point, Gerard,”

Gerard sighed. “I’m trying to tell you, son: I’m proud of you.”

Chris snorted. “Yeah? What was I did so wrong?”

He felt Stiles press his face between his shoulders, shaking slightly. At first, Chris thought the boy was beside himself with terror, but then he realized he could hear the omega’s stifled snickering if he strained his ears.

Good. He should have known Stiles was made of sterner stuff than that. That was good.

But of course, Gerard was as blind to Stiles’ amusement as he apparently was to Chris’ overt disdain. The old man seemed utterly unconcerned by his son’s phrasing.

“You truly surprised me, Chris,” something strangely close to warmth tinted Gerard’s voice as he leaned forward eagerly, elbows on his knees, “When you abandoned our family in the wake of Katherine’s death and let your talents go to waste… my, my, my, but you were dead to me, son.”

“Should’ve stayed that way,” Chris muttered to Stiles.

Stiles responded with a firm, reassuring squeeze.

“And then,” Gerard heaved a sigh as he sat back, still speaking with a disconcerting fondness that didn’t match his words, “Well, then it became public knowledge that you were _fornicating_ with the god’s damned beasts, and I knew my associates would never let me live it down, of course. _You_ ,” pointed his finger at Chris and shook as if he were scolding a naughty schoolboy. “You forced me to retire, Christopher.”

“I heard,” Chris deadpanned.

Gerard’s pleased tone and manner was starting to irritate, more and more with the less sense it made. Everything from the picturesque room they were in to Gerard’s friendly manner, to the fact Stiles was there, unharmed and unrestrained, all of it left Chris whirling, skeptical. Suspicious. It didn’t feel reassuring. Quite the opposite.

“I truly didn’t think you had it in you, Chris,” Gerard chuckled, shaking his head, “but you did: you managed to apply and win yourself an omega mate just like a proper alpha of your good breeding should,”

Along his back, Chris felt Stiles go terribly stiff. Chris reached up and squeezed the boy’s wrist in silent comfort and reassurance, his own heart in his throat.

“What is this really about,” Chris said, using every inflection and vocal trick in the Hunter playbook to present a tough, intimidating front. He wasn’t sure he’d be ready to fight if Gerard made a move now, but Gerard didn’t necessarily know that. Regardless, Chris was doubly glad he’d already positioned himself between his omega and his father. “Just tell me what the hell it is you want.”

“What every successful old man does, of course!” Gerard finally answered, rising to his feat with a grand gesture. “ _Legacy_ , Christopher! After losing Kate and your fall from grace, I honestly thought our family was done for. I’m not sure you can fully grasp the depth of emotion I felt when I learned there was hope for us yet, that you, my wayward boy, had beat the odds and secured an omega, ripe and ready for breeding!”

Chris was going to be sick. He understood where Gerard’s wretched, backwards mind was going with this, and it was going to make him violently ill with disgust.

“Surely, even you must see the opportunity in front of you!” Gerard crowed excitedly, nodding at Stiles.

“No.”

Chris’ own omega mother had been little more than a breeding mule. Two alpha children, one of whom was at best utterly psychotic, and easily a dozen or more miscarriages later, and the poor woman had killed herself rather than face her mate when they finally realized another successful pregnancy would never happen.

Stiles didn’t know any of that, but he was silent and disquietingly frozen against his back nonetheless. Chris could feel his boy’s heart racing like a jackrabbit where the boy pressed into him tight. Chris held his wrist back just as tight, just as desperate, and Stiles didn’t so much as wince even as he surely bruised.

“No.” Chris repeated when Gerard stumbled to a stunned halt.

“No?” The old alpha frown, chin tilted in apparent confusion. “Christopher, an omega in the family again would go so far to restoring—”

“No.” Chris said flatly.

Gerard’s hands, old and veined yet meaty and capable still, rolled into fists. “Without Kate, I have no heir. I certainly couldn’t ever rely on you to do it.”

“You’re right. And I celebrated when you disowned me.” Chris agreed, without shame. “The answer’s still no.”

“You owe me!” Gerard yelled. “After all I’ve given you, the resources I invested in you, the least you can do is provide me an heir!”

“No.”

“Our family!” Gerard shrieked, face reddening with rage, “Our business! Think of all the good, vital work we enable to get done!”

“Which part?” Chris interrupted coldly. “All the good you did, bribing officials to look the other way when too many of your bounties kept coming back dead?”

“The world needs men and women like us!” Gerard argued, undaunted.

“Or maybe you mean I should be grateful you focused on Kate and encouraged her to become a goddamn serial killer!”

“She was a martyr!” Gerard spat, literal spittle flying from his lips. “We provided a necessary service to all mankind, ridding the world of those vermin!”

“Genocide.” Chris spat, Stiles whining in his ear.

“All my hard work,” Gerard pointed his finger at his son vehemently, all warmth and geniality long gone, “ _My whole life’s_ work! It will crumble to a mere footnote in history after I’m gone if you and that omega don’t do your duty—”

“Exactly,” Chris said calmly, voice chilled enough to give the old man pause.

Chris stood then, slow and steady despite the micro-tremors from the drug, till he towered over Gerard. He could barely hold it, and was privately thrilled that Stiles kept with him, helping Chris keep upright and sustaining the illusion of strength. Carefully, he trusted a little bit more of his weight to the omega, just a little.

“I hope everything you stand for crumbles to so much dust, Gerard,” Chris spoke calmly, with true steel, “I really, truly hope so.”

That was when the first blow connected with his face.


	24. Twenty-Four

Peter watched the security feed of the Hunters tossing his mates into the SUV for the hundredth time before Braeden reached over from the backseat of Talia’s car and yanked the tablet out of his hand.

“About time. Turn that shit off,” Talia growled, her claws scratching off the leather of the steering wheel again.

It was probably a good thing Braeden was so quick on the draw. Peter nearly bit her hand off. Literally.

“For god’s sake, Peter, get it together,” Talia slapped his shoulder, her own claws safely retracted. She couldn’t do anything about her glowing eyes though. Not just then.

Neither could Peter. Hell, he couldn’t even clam down enough to keep his fangs at bay. Also, he was still growling sub vocally at Braeden for stealing the tablet.

Braeden couldn’t hear it, of course. Even if she could, she was well and truly distracted by her gadgets in the back seat. She had at least two computers and a cell phone out and operating, and now Peter’s tablet. Lord only knew what she was doing with it all, though he knew at least one was trying to recover sight of Gerard’s SUV on traffic cameras.

In the meantime, they were going old-school. The entire pack was out in force and on their guard, teams of two or three, cruising along select sections of Roseville with the windows down. They would sniff the bastard out if they had to.

Peter was pissed enough he didn’t even mind the indignity of the tactic. Not in the moment anyway. Once his mates were safe? He and Talia would doubtless have many words about it.

“Got a lead,” Braeden chirped. “Derek says they caught a whiff of Stiles at a Chevron right by the Interstate.”

“Which—?"

“Southbound,”

The tires squealed and someone honked as Talia yanked the wheel. “GPS. Now.”

Peter was already pulling up the app on his phone to navigate them in the right direction when a new text message ping on his screen.

“Stiles?!” Peter gaped, opening the text with a lump of raw hope in his throat.

_Trcme_

That was it. Five letters. What—

Before his eyes, another nonsensical text came in.

_trahcsd me fon Hurely._

“Braeden?” Peter held the phone toward her. “Make sense of this for me. Now.”

She frowned at his phone. “A code?”

“It’s from Stiles?” Talia asked.

“Yeah,”

“Trace it. Now.”

Something eager and terrified and bloodthirsty washed over Peter in an invigorating wave. He sat up straighter. “You think they let him keep his phone?”

“I think it wouldn’t occur to Gerard that he might have one,” Talia replied promptly.

Braeden made an excited, approving noise. “Got him. Head South. Jesus, they’re making damn near a straight shot for Tijuana. Here”

Peter accepted his phone back and stared down at the texts like they were a precious photo. At least it was the closest to proof he had that his mates were still alive. He typed out the words of a reply: _I’m coming for you_ , then promptly deleted them without sending. He couldn’t risk warning Gerard, if he should notice the phone. 

“Let’s hope that omega has the brains to keep his head down and that phone hidden,” Talia commented, glancing at Peter’s white knuckled grip on his own device. After a moment, she added gravely: “I don’t want to know what’ll happen if Stiles mouths off to an alpha like Gerard Argent.”

Peter had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing to swallow the rage that statement summoned. He admittedly didn’t do the best job of it. When he opened his eyes to view the texts again, he was still trembling with barely contained fury.

He was so caught up in keeping himself physically in check, he forgot to spare the effort for his mouth.

“And here I thought, you were firmly in favor of corporal punishment for omegas.”

“Peter!” Braeden hissed.

But Talia didn’t snap back. Her gaze remained fixed on the road and her lip trembled as she stank the car up with the scent of shame and fear.

Peter stared at her hard, not quiet capable of letting go of even an ounce of his anger.

“There’s a difference between discipline and abuse, and you know I know it,” Talia said quietly. Then her voice waivered alarmingly as she admitted, “But you’re right. And at least part of this is my fault. Your mates only left the house because I drove them off.”

“Yes. You did,” Peter growled, this phone nearly shattering in his grip for the second time that day.

Peter was not, at his core, a truly decent man who would sooth even his sister at this time. There was too much rage ruling him at the moment, and a fraction of it was even justifiably aimed her way. Peter was nothing if not brutally honest and upfront with himself and the world; he wasn’t about to start sugar coating now.

The truth was, there was only one person responsible for bodily harming himself and abducting his mates. And Peter fully intended to taste his blood as soon as supernaturally possibly.

“I know, Peter. I’m sorry.” Talia said thickly, a determined set to her jaw. “And when we find them, I’ll extend the same apology to Chris and Stiles.”

“You do that,”

They drove silently for a time after that, the car heavy with the foul smells of their joint misery. Peter leaned on the window ledge, nose in the wind to clear it rather than due to necessity.

Eventually, though, Talia let out a loud, tremulous breath and while she did not cry, it felt like she wanted to.

“You were right to keep him from me in the beginning.” Talia whined, the wolf in her voice plaintive and heartbroken, “I’ve been so caught up in treating him like the precious omega that he is, that I haven’t treated him like a person. But then, I made him vulnerable precisely because he’s omega. It’s my fault.”

Peter said nothing to refute this statement.

“I… I’m a damn good Pack leader, but…” Talia sniffled and her voice croaked with realization, “I’m a _bad_ _alpha_.”

And for the second time that day, the sixth total in Peter’s memory, he watched his sister break down and cry.

~!~

Chris hit the floor of the quaint bedroom yet again, and this time he stayed down.

“I really wish you’d reconsider your position, Christopher.”

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Chris lifted his head and spat on his father shoe. It was more blood than saliva, and he had the passing thought that another hit to the face would knock a tooth out. Maybe two.

He got a steel toed boot to the gut for his trouble.

“Take it easy, now, boys.” Gerard said, only just concerned enough to place a cautioning hand on the kicker’s shoulder. “He’s no wolf, remember, and we need him fit enough to tend to the omega when he goes into Heat.”

“Please,” Stiles begged tearfully from the bed. “Just stop hurting him! Please!”

Chris rested his forehead on the floor and forced himself to ignore his omega as thoroughly as the other alphas and betas in the room. He knew how these guys operated, knew that broadcasting his concern for the boy would only be handing them another weapon. Ignoring him and keeping the attention on himself was the only protection Chris could provide his mate.

Stiles must have known that, on some level. The one and only time he’d tried to intervene physically, Gerard had backhanded him so hard, it left the omega stunned on the floor for a whole twenty seconds. Chris had counted.

When his darling, brave omega had tried to shield him with his embrace and his tears, Gerard’s man had dragged him to the bed by his hair. That’s where Stiles was now, trapped in some stranger’s lap, minimally controlled by his invasive alpha pheromones, and crying while the bastard made him watch on the sidelines as Gerard ordered Chris beaten to a carefully tenderized pulp.

“We’ll do it!” Stiles begged, “Please, just stop.”

“Listen to him,” Gerard knelt by Chris’ shoulder, voice dripping false sympathy, “You’ve got yourself such a dear, tender little thing here, Christopher. It’s not fair to keep causing him such distress like this. Omegas aren’t built for it, you know.”

“I told you already!” Stiles whined desperately, jerking at the arms holding him. “We’ll do it! Just leave him alone!”

“Hot damn,” One of the men whistled, “Kid’s got a bit of an attitude, doesn’t he?”

“He’s just upset,” Gerard assured them, unconcerned as he brushed the sweaty hair from Chris’ forehead, “Like a proper omega, he can’t stand to see his mate hurting. Really, Chris, you should have some pity for the boy and stop being so selfishly stubborn about this.”

Chris glared up at him, spitting the words like venom in the hopes it’d keep Gerard’s frustration on target. “Peter and I will never use him like that. Never.”

At the mention of the werewolf’s name, Gerard’s pleasant expression morphed into something ugly. He stood up, smooth and quick and fueled by all the nasty temper of a lifetime of violence, in a way that belied the wrinkles of age in his skin.

“That animal doesn’t deserve an omega.” Gerard sneered. “And you’re barely any better,”

The emotion got the better of him and his foot came down on Chris’ back in a shocking stomp. Hard. And again.

Stiles screamed.

Chris was collapsed on the ground when the third stomp came. He knew, even before the splintering pain of multiple ribs breaking, he _knew_ they’d turned a corner. He’d pushed too far too fast and Gerard had lost control.

They were in real trouble now.

~!~

“Go ahead, omega. See to your alpha,” Goon #1 laughed like this was all good fun as he finally let Stiles off his knee.

Stiles scrambled off the bed, getting to Chris’ side as if he’d teleported straight there. He wasn’t moving again, but this time there was no drug and way too much blood. Oh, God, but he wasn’t moving. So much blood.

“Chris? Chris?” Stiles’ hands were shaking violently as he touched his mate, and the feel of hot blood on his skin was nauseating.

His fingers swept over the alpha’s face and the unfamiliar protuberance along the line of his nose. Broken. Badly.

Stiles turned away just in time to vomit on the pretty carpet beside Chris’ hip.

“Hush, now,”

Stiles flinched bodily as the old man’s hand stroked his hair.

“I’m sorry you had to see this, little omega.”

Gerard made a vague motion and the men quietly traipsed out of the room as he kept petting Stiles. Stiles tried to ignore the attention, even as it made him dry heave, and gathered fistfuls of Chris’ shirt like it would miraculously usher the alpha back to consciousness.

“Don’t worry,” Gerard told him gently as the room fell still and quiet around them. So still. Too quiet. “I had a feeling he would be difficult. Do what you can for him, omega. Comfort him. Motivate him to do the right thing.”

Through chittering teeth and unsurmountable numbness, Stiles forced out a wretched: “Yes, alpha.”

Gerard petted him again and the possessiveness almost made him hurl stomach acid.

“I’ve seen your medical file,” he said casually, “I’m disappointed you’re bonded to the wolf and on birth control, but I know none of that’s your fault.”

The fingers in his hair stilled, and it took Stiles an embarrassingly long moment to realize Gerard expected some sort of reply from him. Stiles’ eyes locked on Chris’ messed up face and he had no idea what else to possibly say not to make things worse.

Chris was out cold. Beaten. Possibly for good. It was up to him now.

“T-thank you, alpha.” Stiles croaked.

Gerard stroked him again with an approving hum. “Of course, dear. Now take it easy, try to calm down. You’ll be just fine.”

With a final pat to Stiles’ head, Gerard finally left them. As he heard the door open behind him, Stiles practically collapsed beside Chris with a quiet sob. He couldn’t fight the tears, didn’t want to, but he kept the volume down so he could hear if Gerard had a way to lock the door.

But the door didn’t even close as Gerard paused expectantly.

“I’d still prefer to have Chris on board,” Gerard sighed, “I’ve always wanted to be a Grandpa. But if it doesn’t work out… You can rest easy knowing I’ve already made arrangements. I’ll make sure you’re taken proper care of.”

The door finally closed. It brought absolutely zero relief.

Stiles pushed himself up and in a fit of inspiration tried to channel his inner-Lydia. Lydia, he was sure, wouldn’t sit back and wait for rescue. She’d act. He’d seen her take charge of her life, even around alphas, even around her own alpha parent. She would take action.

He had to take action.

“Chris? Chris, come on,” Stiles said in a stage whisper, shaking Chris gently. “Just groan. Open your eyes. Please, Chris? You don’t have to do anything else, just let me know you’re with me. _Please_.”

But Chris didn’t respond. Stiles’ was shaking too bad to find a pulse. God but he could be dead...

“Buck up, Stiles,” he pinched himself hard and the little pain did enough to clear the brain fog a little.

He remembered his phone. Jesus. That’s right.

He patted his pocket, only to find the used dart he’d pulled from Chris’ chest hours earlier, and had a flash of panic. Had they taken it—

“No,” Stiles whined, freezing as his brain raced through foggy, chaotic memory. “Wait…”

When the first punch knocked both him and Chris off their feet, Stiles had backed up to let Chris handle it. Into the corner. The alphas were one-on-one, thoroughly distracted, and he’d taken the chance to fire off a quick text telling Peter to trace his phone and hurry, before stashing the device—

“Okay,” Stiles patted Chris’ ass before lurching to his feet, nearly faceplanting before catching himself on his palms, and somehow scurrying over to the corner beside the bureau. He was nothing but a bundle of nerves and desperate energy, feigned pep and bravado infusing every motion.

His phone was there, tucked behind the dresser!

“Come on, come on,” Stiles muttered to himself as he found Peter’s number. He pressed the call button just as heavy footsteps neared the bedroom door.

“Stiles!?” Peter’s voice burst from his hand.

The door handle turned.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed, and threw the phone under the bed.

He skidded on the carpet, rug burn lighting up his feet as he slammed into the nearest piece of furniture with a grunt. The bureau was heavier than expected, and he had to throw him weight against it again as the door clicked open. Need lending his skinny form strength, Stiles shoved the thing along the wall with enough force to tear the carpet and, fortunately, collide with the door. It closed with a satisfying snap and someone in the hall yelped.

Stiles looked around the room frantically. He needed something more to bar the door. He could let them hurt Chris again. He couldn’t let them do whatever they expected to with _him_.

A heavy fist pounded on the door. “Omega! Open this door, right now!”

Stiles went to the closet. It was practically empty.

“Omega!”

There was a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Stiles rushed to it, full intent on using it to reinforce his makeshift barricade. Fuck. It was heavier than the goddamn dresser! How!? Straining, Stiles barely moved it an inch.

The door punched open, the furniture dragging loudly and ruining more carpet.

“Enough of this nonsense, omega!” Goon #2 yelled as he shouldered his way inside.

Stiles floundered to a stop, placing himself between Chris and the door, but that was the extent of his usefulness. Stiles grabbed the closest thing within reach and threw it at the goon’s head.

It hit!

“How dare—did you just throw a pillow at me!?”

It was not his brightest moment. The most harm it did was diminish Goon #2’s already minimal belief in his intelligence. Actually…. Maybe he could work with that.

God knew he wasn’t going to win a fair fight.

Changing tactics, Stiles exaggerated the trembling in his limbs, hugging himself, and let his eyes go impossibly wide. The innocent-and-terrified-and-utterly-overwhelmed-omega act hadn’t worked on his dad’s deputies since the very week he’d presented, but the Goons… they were thick enough it might just work.

Also, it wasn’t an act. He really was innocent _and_ terrified. Just not quite completely, idiotically helpless.

Goon #2 sighed and the anger on his face softened just the tiniest bit. Omega: 1, Goons:… well, probably they’d scored enough points by now. No mater, keeping his own tally could only do him some good at this point.

Mental fortitude. Check. Now he was getting somewhere.

“Damn omega. Calm the fuck down,” Goon #2 shoved the dresser clear of the door with significantly less strain than Stiles had needed, then pointed at the furniture accusingly as he glared at Stiles, “Pull some shit like that again, boy, and I’ll whup your ass. Understand me?”

Meeker than he’d ever been in his life, Stiles nodded. “Yes, alpha,”

“Jesus.” The guy sneered, “Argent really didn’t pick you for your brains, did he. I’m a beta you idiot.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Oh, but the asswipe liked that. Stiles recognizing the way any man preened when he was satisfied with himself, it was the same for bastards of all dynamics.

And then a shockingly familiar voice asked doubtfully: “This is the omega?”

From behind the goon, Natalie Martin stepped into the room.

Stiles gasped as his eyes met hers. “Nat?!”

Natalie stood stiff beside the goon, a Halfway House emergency medical kit clutched tight between her hands. At his utterance of her name, her eyes widened warningly with the slightest shake of her head.

The good frowned, looking between them. “You know him?”

Natalie held Stiles’ gaze determinedly. “Yes. I was his case worker at—” she followed Stiles’ eyes to the floor and saw Chris, paling immediately, “I mean… I was a case worker. At the same Halfway House he passed through.”

“Is that so,”

She swallowed hard and finally managed to tear her eyes from Chris’ bloodied form to meet the bad guy’s scrutinous stare. “I never met the alpha.”

The Goon looked to Stiles expectantly. “That true?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Stiles felt himself nod as if in a dream, not really aware that he was doing it till it was done.

Natalie cleared her throat and adjusted her grip on her bag. “I need to examine him. Can we have some privacy?”

Goon looked Stiles up and down, smirking.

“You’re boss asked for the aid of my professional experience,” Natalie said in a hard voice that screamed alpha, “And I came here as a professional. Allow me to conduct my exam in private so as not to cause him unnecessary distress.”

But the bastard was eye Natalie too suspiciously. His eyes strayed to Stiles. Then to Chris. He was starting to look a lot more intelligent than Stiles gave him credit for originally.

Natalie saw it too. She doubled down. “I am here to provide a necessary medical service. Not to mentally torture a helpless omega. Leave.”

“You heard the lady,” Gerard said pleasantly as he entered the room.

“Sir—”

“You’re not here for a cheap thrill, man.” Gerard’s gaze hardened, “Get out.”

“They know each other, sir,”

Stiles nearly hurled from the spike of anxiety he felt then. He was so sure the game was up, that he was about to see Natalie get a bullet in her skull with one of the guns that had been kept so thankfully holstered this entire time…

Inexplicably, Gerard laughed.

“Sir?”

“My, but it’s a good thing I didn’t hire you for your critical thinking. Of course they know each other! Omegas are rare to begin with, but just how many Halfway Houses do you think exist in California?”

He laughed again, glancing at Natalie and prompting her to give a tight smile. “It’s a small world, where omegas are concerned, I assure you.”

“Indeed, indeed.” He patted her shoulder in friendly manner, “Now, Ms. Martin, we’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He paused with his hand on the door. “And Ms. Martin?”

Stiles didn’t miss the way Natalie stepped in front of him almost casually as she turned to face the old man. Hope bubbled up inside him so quick and immediate, Stiles nearly choked on it. God, he’d missed her.

“Only do the exam, if that’s alright. I think it’d be best if I witness the treatment.”

Stiles couldn’t see her face, but he saw the rigidity in her stance turn painful.

Gerard smiled charmingly, “My entire legacy rests on this omega, Ms. Martin. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

With a final nod, he closed the door. This time, Stiles heard the lock slide into place.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Why are you here?” Stiles asked softly, more terrified of her answer than anything besides Chris dying as they talked.

Natalie dropped her bag and clapped over her mouth as her eyes watered.

“Why, Natalie?” Stiles pressed.

Natalie glanced at the door. “Let’s get you undressed, sweetheart,”

She crossed the room in three quick strides, catching him by the arm and leading him back down to the floor, to Chris. Natalie’s deftly felt for a pulse at the alpha’s throat as she whispered to Stiles hurriedly.

“I didn’t know it was you, Stiles. I didn’t even know what this was really about until I opened that door and saw you.”

Stiles gaped at her. “What the hell did you think this was?”

“Technically?” she shot him a wary look, “… Omega trafficking.”

“What!?” Stiles smacked a hand over his own mouth to stifle the outburst.

They both froze, eyeing the door. They stayed that way for a few seconds. When nothing happened, Stiles lowered his hand and Natalie let go of Chris so she could crawl/stretch toward her bag.

Pulling it to her, Natalie explained: “Melissa McCall and I have been illegally helping omegas break their mating bonds and flee abusive situations for a few years now.”

Stiles flailed emphatically. But impressively silent. “Natalie!” he hissed, “That is _not_ what is happening here!”

“Obviously!” she hissed back as she pulled a sterilized package from the bag. “Normally, we have a guy that helps us find good, upstanding alphas to rehome the omegas _with their consent_. They’re almost always injured and desperate to escape their current mate,”

“That’s great and all,” Stiles sniped. “But that doesn’t help me or my mates!”

“It’s what I thought was happening here,” Natalie defended herself shamefully.

“And what was your first clue this wasn’t all on the up and up, huh? The combat gear?”

“Nothing was immediately obvious,” she sighed, “It’s always been a risky, illegal operation, Stiles. But it saves lives.”

“Yeah,” Stiles jab his thumb toward the newly locked door. “Well it looks like it’s about to cost you yours. Maybe mine and Chris’, if we’re lucky.”

“Don’t be dramatic, he’s not dead.” She peeled the plastic package open and pulled out a syringe. “His pulse is strong, all things considered. It looks worse than it is, trust me.”

Stiles laughed hysterically and grabbed her wrist. “Sure. I’m just supposed to blindly assume Melissa gave you the crash course in EMT training and you’re not going to end up killing him with whatever that is—”

“Stiles,” she looked at him patiently till he shut up.

He deflated under her stare.

“I had to get my nursing license just to get in the door at the Halfway. I know what I’m doing.”

Stiles sat back on his heels heavily and dropped her wrist. “I didn’t know that.”

“May I help him now—”

“Yes! Yes, help. Fuck.”

Natalie jabbed the needle into Chris’ neck without further ado. She glanced back at door and scowled.

“How can I help,” Stiles offered when he caught himself fidgeting and looming over Chris like a mother hen.

“In my bag, find the gauze and medical tape. And the disinfectant. I might as well dress his wounds.”

Stiles went to get the goods, adding: “Yeah. Pretty sure they know you’re like… the definition of a loose end by this point. No offense.”

He handed her disinfectant and she paused, frowning at him. “Stiles… I wouldn’t be so sure.”

He didn’t like the unhappy set to her mouth. “What are you talking about, exactly?”

She shot another pointed glance at the door before returning her attention to Chris. “If we play our cards right, I think there’s a chance I can walk out of here within the hour.”

“Bullshit. How.”

“Just play along. Keep doing what you’ve been doing, and play into that outdated sexist worldview with all you’ve got, okay? I’ll do the rest.”

Before Stiles could ask for details, Chris woke up.


	25. Twenty-Five

Well. He wasn’t dead.

Chris honestly wasn’t processing a whole lot more than that at the moment. He was busy breathing through what felt like shards of glass intersecting his lungs, and talking himself out of noticing the lingering pain from having his nose and jaw reset.

He was aware of Stiles, his hand so slender but firm where it held his.

He was somewhat aware of Natalie Martin messing around with a syringe. He couldn’t remember how or why she was there, though he thought it’d been explained to him. He was half convinced she was a concussion-induced hallucination. If that was even a thing.

He was aware when Gerard came back.

Chris groaned as Stiles tucked into his side, the omega’s arms causing pain even as they tried to cling to his shoulders in the gentlest, most mindful way possible. He felt Stiles’ lips on his temple and heard him whimper. His poor boy.

Where the hell was Peter.

It hurt to breathe and he couldn’t open his left eye. He tasted blood every time he moved his tongue.

“You didn’t have to do that, Ms. Martin.”

“Tending to him helped calm the omega and made the exam much easier. Besides, it was no problem.”

“Well, you have my thanks as a father. Truly.”

“…,”

Chris had to laugh at that exchange. It came out as a wet gurgle, but it was genuine just the same.

“Shh, my alpha,” Stiles whined.

“Now, about this omega,”

Through the slit of his right eye, he saw Gerard’s liver-spotted hands clap together excitedly. Chris wanted to bite the damn things off with a ferocity that made him wonder if Peter hadn’t bitten him after all.

If only. Chris had never wanted the bite, and was too old to likely survive anyway, but damn if he didn’t wish he a set of fangs and claws to defend his omega just then.

“He tells me he has another alpha, beside this one?” Natalie prompted in a cool, professional clip.

“Yes. A werewolf. It shouldn’t be a problem, dissolving the Bond to the mutt? I’m told that’s your area of expertise: the breaking of _unfortunate_ mating Bonds. As you can see,” Gerard chortled, “this one’s an unfortunate mating situation for all parties involved.”

“Hmm. Clearly,”

“Let’s get this done,” one of his father’s men huffed.

Chris got a sense of movement off to his left and Stiles tensed. More than half blinded, Chris yelled as he lurched to crush the omega to him.

“Chris!?” Stiles cried in alarm, trying to push him back down on the bed.

“Now, now, Christopher. Don’t make this any harder for him than it has to be—”

Chris spat the blood pooling in his mouth so he would be heard clearly. “Peter’s! Mine!”

Gerard gave a long, disappointed sigh. To Chris’ compromised perspective, he was little more than a grey blob as he paced along the foot of the bed toward Natalie.

“Just to be clear,” he said, slow and clear, “You _can_ break his Bond to the wolf and leave him still happily Bonded to my son, can’t you?”

Natalie’s clothing was blue and black, making her shape something like a bruise in his view of the room, motionless and contained like any statue. She must have nodded her ascent though.

“Good, that’s good.” Gerard patted her arm conspiratorially, nodding dramatically enough for Chris to make it out. “Now. The breaking of a mating bond can be such a tragic affair for an omega, or so I’m told, but it won’t be anything he can’t recover from with the help of a good alpha, right? In your experience, Ms. Martin?”

Natalie cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Of course,”

The next pat of Gerard’s hand turned into a solid grip that shook her. “And would he fare half so well if, say, we were to break both his mating Bonds at once?”

No one said a damn thing.

Chris tightened his arms around the omega—his omega!—and pressed his injured face into the boy’s hair. Stiles was frozen, hardly breathing, against him and it infuriated the alpha like nothing ever had before. Even worse than knowing Gerard had nearly killed Peter.

He had to do something. He had to protect his omega. He had ignore the pain and—

“Unbonded omegas should be at The Halfway House, Gerard.”

It was a blunt statement, in a blunt, masculine tone. One of Gerard’s men, Chris realized with a start.

“Agreed,” Natalie said promptly.

“I’m always down for screwing over a mutt and helping a man secure his legacy,” another voice chimed in, “but I didn’t sign up for no Omega Trafficking,”

“Oh keep your britches on, boys. No one’s stealing or selling this omega.” Gerard scoffed, unconcerned. “I’m just making a point, is all.”

“Liar,” Chris spat, chest cold with realization.

“Not at all, Christopher. You forget, I _want_ you to keep your omega. But if you’re not breeding him, I see no reason not to use him as leverage.”

Chris snarled, “If you touch him—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chris. I’d never touch another man’s omega.” He laughed, “The legal punishment for that is worse than doing time for murder!”

Gerard wasn’t the only one laughing now. Chris wanted to shoot every last one of them in the head.

“Dear Stiles here,” Gerard continued, “should being going into Heat within a week! Tell me sweetie, what do you think about going through one of those ‘moderate to severe’ Heats temporarily Bond broken and all alone?”

“No!” Stiles cried. “No! Chris, please! Just say you’ll do it!”

“Listen to the boy, Christopher.”

“Please!” Stiles whimpered into his ear, none too quietly. “Chris, I can’t. I can’t. Please!”

There was no escaping this, Chris realized.

He hugged Stiles desperately and cried into the boy’s hair, whispering brokenly. “Peter. Peter. I’m sorry. Oh, God. Peter.”

~!~

Peter kept staring at the blinking indicator on Braeden’s lap top, fixated as though it might move the moment he looked away. Unlikely. The beacon hadn’t budged an inch on the map in the entire time they’d been using it.

Stiles—or at least his phone—was stationary. They were closing in, but with too far to go to ease the wolf salivating and snarling under his skin.

It’d been a solid two hours since the phone call. Just Stiles uttering a single curse and a clattering noise, then just enough commotion to send Peter into a force shift before Talia disconnected the call. It was fair reasoning, he acknowledged afterword; they couldn’t risk Gerard’s men hearing Peter’s raging growls and discovering the phone. They needed the phone in one piece.

So the connection was cut. And hours later, they were still following the signal. Fair trade.

“We should be less than an hour out from the target,” Braeden announced from the driver’s seat. Per the plan, she was the last to take the wheel so the wolves could focus their senses beyond the road.

“Windows,” Talia said gruffly from the passenger’s seat.

In the backseat, Peter rolled his window down only a fraction of a second behind his sister, on the opposite side of the car from her. It was unlikely they’d catch scent of Chris or Stiles, but Hunters tended to mark their own territories in telling ways. The more information they had about Gerard’s presence in this backwoods Californian town before catching up to Stiles, the better.

He fully expected to start catching scent of wolfsbane and mountain ash long before they got there. He expected the typical Hunter militia, and they’d have an idea of their numbers and anti-werewolf defenses over the course of the remaining drive.

He did not, however, expect to get a worthwhile phone call when they were less than half an hour from Stiles’ beacon.

Peter answered the call on speaker with a sharp, “Martin?”

“Peter Hale? Thank God. Please tell me you already in So Cal.”

Talia whirled around in her seat, red eyes blazing.

“She was Stiles’ case manager at The Halfway,” Peter supplied shortly. “Martin, what do you know?”

“I’m texting you an address—”

“We’re already tracing Stiles’ phone.”

“… you are? Oh, good. That’s… you probably know where he is better than I do. I blind folded me and left me at—”

“I don’t care.” Peter snapped. “My mates are in danger. You’re not.”

“Right. Look…. They forced me to chemically interfere with your mating bond—”

“What!” Peter roared.

He dropped the phone. He dropped it from numb fingers that cracked as the reformed, from hands that sprouted fur with a speed that was dizzying.

“Peter!” Talia growled in warning as the car swerved.

“Fuck,” Braeden smacked the wheel to let out her frustration.

“… Hale?! Hale? Dammit. Peter!?”

Peter’s ears twitched as he growled and tore a lupine head from the shredded remains of his shirt. He got free of it just in time to see Talia lung over the seat to retrieve his phone.

“Martin?”

“Pet—yes? Who is this?”

“Talia Hale, Peter’s sister and Pack Leader. Tell me what you know.”

“I… uh. Chris Argent and Stiles are being held in a house. Uh. Two stories, I think. At least six men. All armed.”

“They’re unharmed?”

“Uh… Chris is… I set his nose, jaw, and ribs, but he needs a hospital. Stiles had a bruise on his face—”

Peter howled. The sound carried well out the fucking open windows.

Talia hit him across the nose to shut him up. Hard. 

“No more details like those,” Talia instructed. “What else.”

“You need to hurry. I doctored the meds to slow it down, but if they want to stop the Bond from breaking, Peter needs to get to him fast.”

“What does he need to do?”

“Ideally, get him somewhere he feels safe and loved, then make sure Peter knots him. Short of that… just hold him. Drown him in Peter’s pheromones. Just give him all the comfort possible to reassure him that his mate is still with him. Right now…”

Martin sighed and Peter stopped growling purely to make sure he caught whatever she said next. It was important.

“Stiles knows better, logically, but to him… physically and emotionally, I’m sure it feels like Peter died.”

Peter didn’t howl again. He whimpered. With the animal consuming his waking mind, his anger was only so strong in the face of his mate’s lose. His omega. His poor, sweet omega.

The rage would be back with a vengeance. Some corner of his soul knew it well. But for now, just for a moment while they were trapped in this hunk of metal and forced idle, the wolf mourned.

~!~

Natalie had warned him. She told him to trust her, and he had. He wished he hadn’t.

“Poor thing,” A nameless goon muttered.

Chris held him as he sobbed. Oh, how he sobbed. The fragile strength returning to Chris’ arms, courtesy of the adrenaline shot and pain meds Natalie had given him, should have been reassuring to the omega. Instead, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to care.

How could he, when it felt like a piece of him had been cut out and lost forever.

Half of him was untethered to the world, intimately aware of what he was missing in a way he’d had no knowledge of his entire first eighteen years of life. The other half was heartbroken, sensitive to his mate’s guilt, his mourning. It was misery on top of misery.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” Chris murmured against his cheek, smearing blood and tears across them both.

“You should knot him.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just a suggestion, man. Might help him out.”

“Alright,” Gerard said, sounding unbearably satisfied. “Let’s leave these lovebirds to themselves, hm?”

Stiles didn’t care. He buried his face in his remaining alpha’s chest and cried. He cried and cried and eventually screamed his poor little heart out.

And all the while, Chris held him.

It took forever for Stiles’ well of tears to dry. When it did, he was left empty. Numb. Exhausted.

He had no idea how much time had passed. When he bothered to lift his head from Chris’ chest, the sun was noticeably lower in the sky outside their window.

He hadn’t fallen quiet for long though when Gerard decided they’d had long enough alone.

“Happy now,” Chris mumbled, stroking Stiles’ back shakily. “You got what you wanted.”

“We’re certainly well on our way, at least.”

Gerard dragged the heavy chest from the foot of the bed with unfair ease and moved it closer to where Stiles was curled into Chris’ lap. When the old man sat down on it, close enough Stiles could feel the air move with his movement, the omega tensed so hard he trembled noticeably.

“I have a friend in TJ,” Gerard said conversationally. “He’ll set us up in a nice little bungalow in Mexico for a few months, certainly long enough for that pesky little Depo shot to clear his system.”

“If you think Peter’s—”

“What do expect him to do, hm? Really now, you and I both know you’re not cruel enough to make Stiles bed an alpha he’s not Bonded to. No, no. Peter has no use for this omega.”

Stiles’ stomach rolled and he gagged on renewed sobs. He couldn’t help it. Gerard was right. Peter was… gone. Stiles knew he wasn’t, but his heart didn’t get the memo. He was viscerally ill with grief.

Gerard took no notice of his renewed agony. “Their relationship is well and truly over, son. Now you have to do what’s best for Stiles, the mate who’s biologically dependent on you like nature intended.”

“You sick bastard,”

“Indeed. If I don’t end up with cancer like my own father, I expected old age to catch up to me before too much longer. That’s exactly why we’re here.”

Stiles squeaked as the old man dragged a proprietary hand over his back.

Chris’ growl as he yanked Stiles away morphed into a groan of pain. “Don’t touch him!”

“Goodness. You act like this is the end of the world. Never knew you could be so dramatic, Christopher.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try. But I’ll make you a deal you can’t refuse: breed this little darling for me and give me an heir, and I’ll pay for you and Stiles to retire to French countryside like your momma used to talk about. A year’s worth of your time, at most.”

Chris laughed painfully, “I always knew Kate got all the crazy from you. I’m not giving you a child, and neither is Stiles.”

“We’ll see, son.”

“Suppose we will.”

~!~

It took surprisingly little time to case the place, between three of them. That was thanks in large part to the fact that the property was not, as they had anticipated, an established Hunter hide out. It was just a house, not even a particularly well secured one.

It was, Braeden found out after googling the name on the mailbox, an Air B&B. Currently rented for one night only under a recycled Hunter alias Peter recognized from Chris’ early misbegotten career.

Minimal security, video feed motion activated and easily compromised from Braeden’s laptop. Eight Hunters total, including Gerard. They’d lined the white picket fence with mountain ash, but Braeden took care of that when she went around the block for an evening stroll.

Messy. Almost amateur. Gerard Argent was slipping.

It was almost insulting.

“Trap?” Talia suggested.

“Definitely,” Peter agreed.

It didn’t matter though. They were undeterred. When they drove down the nearest side street upon arrival, he could hear Stiles’ screaming sobs from nearly a block away. Nothing would keep him from tearing through that house like the demonic fiend they imagined him to be.

They were just waiting for the moon to rise and lend them her strength. That, and for Braeden to single she was in position.

Then they would kill them all.

~!~

Dusk set, and the encroaching darkness did Chris’ limited vision no favors. It did manage to lull his exhausted omega into a doze. Chris couldn’t decide if that was a good thing. He didn’t miss the sound of Stiles’ vocal suffering through the death of his Bond to Peter, but the dull unresponsiveness and passivity the omega had adopted was beyond worrying.

Chris had never hated anyone more than he hated his father in that moment.

There was the muted sound of a muffled gunshot.

Chris sat up, gasping as the motion sent shockwaves of pain through his torso.

Beside him on the bed, Stiles rolled over silently, dull eyes open and trained on the door.

Gripping the omega’s arm, Chris whispered, “It’s Peter. He’s here, Stiles.”

“I know,”

God, but he hated how small and defeated Stiles’ voice sounded. At least he was talking again.

Cradling his arm over the worst of the pain in his side, Chris stiffly climbed off the bed. He’d bet his life that the first thing Gerard would do if given half the chance was retreat up here to take Stiles hostage. Chris wouldn’t let that happen, even if it killed him.

He braced himself on the bedpost nearest the door and acknowledged his chances of making it out of another scuffle. God, he wished he had a weapon. Even a butter knife might make all the difference…

Full dark had fallen by the time he heard another distinct gunshot, despite the mufflers that would be standard for an operation in such an obviously residential area. Stiles didn’t react any more than he had to the first shot.

Then there was a much louder bang and the walls shook.

Stiles sat up, not as fast as he should have after being startled, but it was a reaction. Chris would take it.

“Stiles,”

At the sound of Chris’ voice at normal speaking volume, Stiles moved a little faster to get to his side and take the alpha’s hand in both of his.

“See if you can find me a weapon.” Chris lifted his chin toward the writing desk tucked in the far corner. “Check the desk. Maybe there’s a letter opener. Hell, even a sharp pencil.”

Silently, so uncharacteristically, the omega let his hand go with pronounced reluctance. He did as he was told.

Chris didn’t turn to watch his progress. He kept his attention on the door as further noises of conflict echoed down the hall outside. The commotion grew louder as the seconds tick by.

It still felt like an eternity before the first canid growls reached their ears.

At the desk, Stiles stopped riffling through the desk. He gave a soft, broken moan. “P-Peter?”

“Yes—”

An unmuffled gun shot sounded just outside the door, followed immediately by a high-pitched animal whine.

“Peter!?” Stiles screamed.

“Stay back!” Chris held out his arm in the same moment the door burst open, the muzzle of a gun leading the way.

Chris didn’t think, didn’t pause to feel the pain. He lunged as he heard his omega scream again, and managed to get a grip on Gerard’s wrist, wrench it down with enough surprise on his side that the old man stumbled back into the hall, taking Chris with him.

They tumbled, and the gun went off again. Right into Chris’ foot.

“You filthy animals!” Gerard screeched, elbowing Chris off him and into the hallway wall.

Chris lifted his head just in time to see his father take aim at the fully shifted werewolf slumped on the ground not six feet away.

“No!” Chris screamed, reaching for the gun fruitlessly. He knew he couldn’t stop the shot—

Gerard fired.

And the gun jammed.

“Fucker!” Gerard screamed and pulled a second pistol from his hip, leveling at wolf’s head with raw loathing in his face. “Ah!”

Chris grimace and rolled, trying to kick out with his non-injured foot. He missed.

Stiles didn’t.


	26. Twenty-Six

Stiles heard the wolf whimper in pain and it broke something lose inside him.

Chris yelled at him. The door opened. A gun. Gerard. Another shot. Chris, screaming in pain. What was happening. No. No, no, no.

He made to follow Chris into the hall—to do what, he didn’t know—and he damn near tripped on the fucking chest left beside the bed. Not thinking, Stiles sprung the latch, barely hoping he’d find so much as a spare sheet to smother the bastard with.

He didn’t.

“No way…” Stiles whispered into the cluttered chaos of the chest.

“No!” Chris screamed in shear terror.

“Fucker!”

No time. No time. No time to think or second guess. Stiles grabbed what he needed and ran, brandishing the weapon before he’d even cleared the door.

He brought the baseball bat down on Gerard’s arm just as he pulled the trigger.

“Aaaahh!”

As the old man dropped, shrieking, Stiles watched the wolf stumble. His whole world had turned to muted greys and so much nothing in the past few hours, but as Stiles spied the bloody fur it brought a burst of color back into his life.

Crimson red. Burning, red hot rage.

There was no thought, no concept of time, not even an awareness of motion. Stiles snapped. He lifted the bat again and brought it down with all the furious might in his entire body. No, not just his body, slender and unfit for a fight. His soul. His entire being. He put his _everything_ into the swing.

“Omeg—Ah!” Gerard fell flat under the weight of the wood and Stiles’ wrath, gasping.

Stiles lifted the bat clear over his head and swung again.

This time, Gerard shout was wordless, less shocked, and nothing but pain. Satisfying.

So Stiles did it again. And again. And again. He stumbled with the force of rearing back, and then he did it again. Again.

Until he couldn’t feel his arms or hear Gerard make a single sound. Not even a gurgle came from his smashed-in face. White hair painted red.

“—Stiles!”

Numbly, Stiles recognized his alpha’s voice. Chris. The alpha who hadn’t been taken from him.

“Baby. Baby, that’s enough. You got him.”

His fingers couldn’t let go of the bat, though. His eyes wouldn’t turn away from the gore, not even to seek out his remaining mate. He tried, but they just wouldn’t.

Distantly, he heard Chris dragging himself upright against the wall, talking to him furtively. “Look at me, Stiles. Come on, baby boy. Come here. Let me help you,”

“Ugh!” a female voice groaned, and the accompanying cracking of shifting bones nearly drew Stiles’ gaze. Not quite.

“Talia!?” Chris hissed desperately.

“I’ll live,” she growled breathlessly. “Second shot hit my shoulder. Jesus, omega…”

“Stiles? Stiles, snap out of it. Look at me!”

He felt Chris stumble nearer, and from the corner of his eye he saw his alpha’s knee buckle. He fell heavily at Stiles’ side, one hand catching himself on the floor and the other locked onto Stiles’ ankle tight.

Looking down, Stiles noticed he was still barefoot. In his pajamas from last night. Gerard’s blood was squishing between his toes. Huh.

An unfamiliar figure, pale in his periphery, approached. Stiles yanked the bat up as he spun toward it.

Talia caught the wood inches from her face, grimacing in pain even as her eyes widened in shock. Stiles could see the bullet hole in her naked shoulder slowly closing.

“You…” Stiles trembled a little as he stared at her. “You’re okay?”

She nodded, eyes grave and sorrowful as she met his. “You saved me, Stiles. It’s okay now. You’re safe, we’re all safe. Let go of the bat, honey.”

“It’s alright, Stiles,” Chris panted from the floor. “You’re done. Listen to her and let it go,”

But he couldn’t. He wanted _his_ alphas—both of them—not her. He was numb and shaken and the only thing he was certain of was that he was broken. Irrevocably. He didn’t even think Chris could fix him.

“Give it to me, Stiles. That’s it. Give me the bat,”

“Let go, Stiles. Baby, let go.”

He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

~!~

Peter came out of the fog of bloodlust to find himself snout-deep in a Hunter’s guts.

“Well, Peter,” Braeden said as she crouched beside him, her sniper riffle slung over her back. She nodded, resignedly impressed, as she surveyed the corpse. “Good job. I think you got them all,”

He lifted his head with a wolfish grin and licked the blood off his fangs.

She snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Shift back, asshole. I don’t hear anything going down upstairs, so you should probably get up there to help carry your darlings down the stairs if they need it.”

Peter growled lowly in righteous anger, even as his fur began melting back into his skin.

Braeden stood, eyes averted toward the door for his privacy as much as for keeping vigilant. “Car’s at the curb. I’m thinking maybe you and Talia should take it, leave me behind to sort this mess out. I don’t expect Chris will be in any condition to smooth things over with the local authorities right now, so I’ll do it.”

By the time she was done speaking, Peter was a man again. Panting from the exertion of a bloodbath and two quick shifts, he made his way to the kitchen sink to wash some of the blood from his face.

“Clothes?”

She threw a pair of grey sweatpants at his back. They were close enough to his size, though he could do without the US Marshall emblem on the leg. He got the worst of the blood off his jaw and chest, then pulled them on in record time.

Then he made a beeline for the stairs and the scents of his mates, Chris’ spilt blood, and revolting depths of distress.

“Holy shit,” Braeden whispered as they cleared the top landing right behind him.

She nearly ran into his back, Peter jolted still so suddenly. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to make any sense of what he was looking at.

There was an unidentifiable pile of blood and flesh on the floor.

Closest to the stairs, Talia stood with her back to them, naked and smeared from violence. Her hand was on the business end of a gore-covered bat.

On the other end, an old, battered catcher’s mit still hanging from the handle, was Stiles. Chris was slowly pulling himself up the omega’s shaking form, getting upright while favoring one bloody foot. Stiles didn’t even seem to notice.

Those wide whiskey-amber eyes were locked on Peter like he was seeing a ghost.

“Stiles?” Peter barely breathed.

Peter took a step forward and instantly the omega began breathing hard and heavy. His expression showed no relief. Only horror and misery.

“P-Peter?”

Peter felt his heart breaking, more effectively than it had amid all the rage of discovering his mates were taken from him. He took another step forward, raising his hands slowly.

“Oh, sweetheart. What happened to you?”

Chris’ bruised and battered face crumbled as he hugged the omega from behind and whispered, “Let it go, Stiles. Come on, open your fingers,”

“Give me the bat, sweetie.” Talia said in her smoothest, most maternal tone. “That’s it. Hand it over and your alphas can give you what you need,”

But Stiles ignored them. He stared at Peter like he’d never seen him before, like the sight of him was amazing and terrible all at the same time. Like seeing Peter was somehow the most wretched nightmare he’d never even imagined.

“You…” Oh, his poor boy sounded so wounded. Broken and confused. “You were gone. They took you away…”

“No, Stiles. I’m right here. Come to me.”

Talia slowly let go of the bat and stepped to the side. “Careful,” she cautioned, sounding perturbed, “he can do some real damage with that thing,”

“They broke hid Bond to you, Peter,” Chris informed him, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, love—”

“I know, Chris. It’s alright. Stiles? Sweetheart?”

Peter got close enough and used every supernatural gift he had to snatch the bat out of the air. It yanked Stiles forward, sending Chris back to the floor with a grunt, and then the omega was in Peter’s arms. Where he belonged.

Stiles gasped and his grip finally slackened as he began hyperventilating in earnest.

Peter threw the bat into the lump of dead meat and lifted the boy of his feet and away. He just had to get Stiles away from the ugliness. He needed to safeguard his mind and heart now that the physical threat was gone.

“Get him out of here,” Chris was already calling in encouragement before Peter spared him a thought.

“Go,” Talia promised, “I’ll help Chris.”

He didn’t question his Pack Alpha, didn’t hesitate to follow Braeden back down the stairs

“Argent’s SUV.” Braeden said sharply. “It has a bigger trunk. I’ll drive while you take care of him,”

Stiles shook in his arms, so violently it was difficult to keep a hold on him. By the time they reached the SUV and Braeden had rigged it open, the omega was sobbing loudly with every half-decent breath. He tossed his head fitfully, but his movements were too wild and Peter’s grip was too tight; it was impossible to tell if the boy was trying to paw at him, or trying to break away.

Did he miss Peter that desperately? Or was he truly that disturbed by him?

Their Bond was broken. That was negligible to an alpha in the short term, but to an omega… Peter remembered how Stiles had reacted to being touched by Deaton and his nurses, how wary he’d been of Talia that first meeting, of anyone other than his mates. Fuck, but the idea of his touch causing Stiles further distress right then was absolute hell.

God, but he hoped Martin was right. He had to be able to fix this.

Braeden slammed the back door of the stolen vehicle the moment they were in. Peter wrestled the hysterical omega into his lap, trapping him with his arms and legs both, as she got behind the wheel and pried open the dashboard. Doubtlessly, hotwiring was faster than searching for the fucking keys.

In the meantime, Stiles nearly broke Peter’s nose with his thrashing and wailing.

“For fuck’s sakes, Peter!” Braeden glowered at him over her shoulder as she pulled out of driveway. “Help him!”

“I’m trying!” he snapped back.

It was all he could do to keep as much skin contact as possible. Stiles’ upset continued mounting, flooding the cabin with distressed omega pheromones. The part of the boy that was so convinced he was unmated, unclaimed and in such need of it, hit both alphas on a primordial level.

Braeden shouted in wordless frustration and stomped her foot down on the gas pedal. The tires squealed and rubber burned.

And Peter… Peter went just about feral as the wolf roared to the forefront of his mind. He didn’t shift, thankfully. Even he couldn’t pull off three changes in such close, consecutive order. Thankfully, even the animal understood that was the absolute last thing the omega needed right then.

Still, it was the wolf more than the man who used clawed fingers to rip their clothing off.

“Fucking hell!” Braeden hissed.

Peter paid her no mind. His human speech devolved into a rumbling growl he’d never heard himself make before, something low and insistent and promising. He kept at it, louder and louder as he flipped the omega onto his belly and Stiles sobbed as if he could drown Peter out. It wasn’t simply a sound Peter made though, and it vibrated from his chest relentlessly as he pressed it along the omega’s back.

Stiles’ tantrum persisted. He wailed in confusion, caught up in paramount omega hysteria, grabbing at Peter’s wrists to pull him close even as he fought to buck him off. 

Peter, somehow, miraculously, managed to clamp human teeth over the boy’s neck. He gave a single shake, a warning growl, and while the omega didn’t quiet down, he did freeze.

It was only a moment’s reprieve, as Stiles drew a hard, loud breath in preparation for a furious scream. It was enough.

Peter mounted him.

Stiles roared, as if he were the mindless beast, and between the first thrust and the next the sound warbled off into a desperate, wrenching cry of relief. His smaller body stopped resisting, though his desperate hands tightened impossibly on Peter’s wrists. He shook all over as the wolf-in-man’s-skin claimed him anew, the mating Bond forcefully snapped back into place.

Oh, Lord have mercy, but Peter hoped the Bond was back. Stiles needed it so badly.

His omega still smelled of misery and rage, but there was the beginning of something bright and achingly hopefully blossoming in his scent. Slowly, surely, his pheromones sweetened the air and when he felt the first real gush of slick easing their coupling, Peter howled. Victory!

Stiles didn’t participate, but Peter knew when he finally realized—really, truly realize—what was happening. His frantic heartbeat stuttered just as his sobs finally quieted. There was a small rush of omega arousal, yes, but more importantly, there was a warmth to his skin and his scent that brought a little bit of Peter’s humanity back.

It reminded him of Stiles, happy and whole and undeniably his.

When the knot finally began forming, Stiles gasped, shuddered, and went limp beneath him. By the time they were fully locked, the omega had fallen quiet for the first time since Peter ripped the weapon from his hold.

Braeden, against all sense of propriety, glanced over her shoulder just long enough for Peter to see the extreme concern on her face.

“He’s alright,” Peter groaned softly, before immediately dropping he head to rest on the omega’s shoulder. He kissed him. “You’re alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Stiles made the softest whimper of acknowledgment.

Peter kissed him again and ran his hands over every inch of the boy he could reach.

Stiles trembled. “P-Peter?”

“I’m here, Stiles. I’m right here.”

“Peter!” Stiles croaked, tearing up again. “Oh, Peter! My alpha!”

“Shh. I’m here,” Peter promised, peppering kisses across his boy’s neck and shoulders, his chin and nose as he turned his head to rest it on the floor. “I’m here, Stiles. I’m yours. I’m still yours.”

Stiles’ quiet sobs were heart wrenching, but thankfully devoid of whatever madness had gripped him earlier. He barely moved, only enough to fitfully get the fingers of one hand interwoven with Peter’s, then he held fast till his knuckles turned white, tight enough to make the werewolf wince.

The slight discomfort didn’t mater though. Peter let the omega hold his hand, for as long and as hard as he wanted. He held him back just as firmly, though he was careful not to crush the delicate fingers within his grasp.

He held his omega tenderly and carefully rolled his knot to distract him from his sorrows, kissing and whispering words of encouragement all the while. It took a little coaxing, but he managed to work the most pathetic of orgasms from his darling.

Immediately afterword, Stiles passed out from exhaustion with Peter’s knot solidly in place.

~!~

Chris didn’t remember the drive to the nearest hospital. He didn’t remember getting admitted and set up with an IV. He was getting really fucking sick and tired of shit happening when he was borderline comatose.

He was also sick of seeing Talia when he kept hoping and expecting her brother.

“Where are my mates?” he grumbled at her as she settled in the only chair in the room.

Talia sighed and took her time getting comfortable before responding. She leaned back, crossed her legs, even picked imaginary lint off the uncharacteristic jeans and sweatshirt she wore.

“Peter. Stiles.” He glared to hurry her up.

She rolled her eyes. “Busy.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

She raised a brow at him, elbow on the armrest as she perched her chin on the fist.

Chris sighed and dropped his skull back onto the pillow in futility. Sarcastically saccharine, he addressed the ceiling: “Please, Talia. Won’t you please tell me where they are.”

She didn’t answer immediately, and when he tilted his chin to glare at her, he found her grinning unrepentantly.

“God,” he groaned, “What!?”

“It’s just good to hear you use your manners, Chris,”

“You know,” he closed his eyes and decided to try to ignore her after this little heart-heart, “I dislike you. Truly. But I don’t usually hate you like I do in this moment.”

“Hmm,” she didn’t sound upset, merely thoughtful. “I used to hate you. Now… I like to think I’ve learned to appreciate you over the years.”

He snorted, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Damn, but he’d somehow missed the thorough ache wrapping his sternum.

“I mean it,” she said when he stopped grimacing in pain. “You’re a valuable asset, and a loyal packmate. I don’t think Peter would have stuck around long after our dad died if it wasn’t for you.”

“…Maybe.” He was quite confident of that. Peter didn’t play nice with other wolves as a rule, not just his family. “Jesus. Even with my eyes closed I’m dizzy. What the hell did they give me?”

“Something I can’t pronounce. It’s the best they have, I’m told. I’m trying to get Alan to overnight a potion for you to speed the healing along, but the hospital management won’t budge on magical supplementation unless push comes to shove. Which it won’t, considering…”

Chris frowned, eyes stubbornly closed. “What the hell are you talking about? Where are Peter and Stiles?”

She sighed. “Argent’s unmarked SUV, in the overnight parking lot, I imagine.”

“Why?” Chris sneered, opening his eyes just to glare at her. “What the hell’s going on, Talia? Seriously. Is Stiles okay? Their mate Bond?”

She rolled her eyes, but they landed far off in a haunted stare. “They’re alright. It was rough on him, but… yeah. They’ll be alright. We’re waiting for the last knot to go down now, then Peter will bring him here.”

Something about her tone, or her maybe her phrasing, irked the edges of his mind just vaguely enough to tell Chris his mental faculties were definitely _not_ up to snuff.

Scratching the side of his nose only to find it taped, Chris dropped his hand and insisted eloquently: “Huh?”

Talia’s lip actually curled in discomfort as she told him, “Peter knotted him to revive their Bond before it was permanently damaged. It triggered an early Heat on the ride here. Well… the re-Bonding, and probably all the stress…”

In a rush, Chris’ memory launched a slide show of Stiles beating Gerard to death and then some. Chris swayed, remembered he was lying down, and promptly closed his eyes again.

“Fuck. Stiles really did that.”

“Yeah,” Talia sounded half-dead herself as she echoed him softly, “He really did that.”

The silence stretched, not all together uncomfortably, but heavy with private dwellings on both their parts. Chris had no doubt Talia was also thinking about Stiles’ murderous fit. Chris certainly was.

The human alpha couldn’t tell if he was proud or heartbroken for his omega. Horrified? Saddened? Relieved? Sorry, maybe?

He knew how he felt about Gerard being dead. That was easy.

But Stiles? Omegas weren’t meant for that kind of action. God. How would this affect him. How could Chris and Peter possibly make this right. There were some things that just could not be undone, and Stiles hadn’t merely killed in self-defense. He’d really let loose on the bastard and bludgeoned him to death.

Gerard deserved it. Stiles did not.

Fuck. And now he was in Heat on top of it all.

Chris needed to be with his omega. He poked at the IV sticking out of his hand. “Would it do him any good for me to go to him?”

Talia chuckled, “Want me to push you out there in a wheel chair?”

He sighed dejectedly and stopped messing with the IV. “…He needs me, Talia.”

Talia said nothing in response. Or rather, neither of them said a word for a long, terribly sad moment. Then the she-wolf left her chair and crossed the room in a single, decisive stride, and sat down gently by his hip.

She gripped his wrist comfortingly and said in no uncertain terms: “He’s going to need more than that for a while. More than you and Peter. And you know it.”

Chris closed his eyes again and all he saw was Stiles, his face warped with rage as he screamed and struck out at the closest, fortunately justified, target. His ears rang with the memory of Stiles’ possessed wailing as Peter scooped him up in his arms. His poor Stiles.

“Yeah. I know.”


	27. Twenty-Seven

Omegas were amazing. Truly and utterly incredible. Or maybe just theirs was. Peter wasn’t caught up on the particulars of the point. He was in awe of his little mate, regardless.

“Please, Peter,” Stiles asked not ten minutes after they got him home, “I need it,”

Stiles’ triggered Heat had been rough on all of them. Unusually long, in an uncomfortably unfamiliar hospital Heat room, with Chris largely out of commission, and Stiles as close to feral with omega neediness as was possible… Well, suffice it to say, none of them had particularly enjoyed themselves.

“Please,” Stiles whined breathlessly, tugging at Peter’s belt loops.

“Alright,” Peter stroked the boy’s arms soothingly as he let himself be led from the kitchen to the couch.

But the omega was recovering. They all were. But Stiles… Stiles was faring world’s better than any of them had dared hope.

That wasn’t to say Stiles was fully recovered. Far from, in fact. He needed constant physical contact it seemed. Peter had anticipated it, after speaking with Natalie Martin about the effects of the Bond damage, but it had still been something of a surprise that the omega was at least as clingy with Chris as he was with the mate he’d theoretically lost for a time.

Knotting helped.

He’d barely undone his jeans when Stiles tried to climb onto his lap with his own pants still on. The omega huffed frustratedly as he backed up to shuck the clothing.

“Okay, slow down, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere,”

Despite the roughness, Peter was glad for the Heat. So was Chris. Thanks to the fever, Stiles’ memory of what happened with Gerard was dulled and far from debilitating. The omega was still shaken from the echoing trauma to his mate Bond, but he was largely back in his right mind, the madness that had gripped him when he held the bat was a vague and distant nightmare.

Mild Estrus Sickness, the doctor’s called it. Apparently, it wasn’t unheard of for an omega’s body to send itself into an intense Heat in order to protect the mind. The omegologist at the hospital assured them the memories were not merely suppressed, but thoroughly disintegrated from his consciousness. That same specialist had impressed upon them the equal importance of getting him established with a local therapist who had experience with self-induced Estrus Sickness.

The idea that any part of his dear Stiles had found melting away part of his mind preferable to facing reality was uniquely heartbreaking. Peter tried not to think about it.

Besides. Chris was doing enough dwelling for all three of them. He’d been so very quiet since the Heat broke, and so very, very attentive to the omega despite his injuries.

“Here,” the human alpha said softly as he carefully settled his bruised body on the couch beside Peter. “Let me help, baby.”

Stiles made a quiet little noise of agreement as Chris’ hand slid between his legs. Peter watched with more critical attentiveness than arousal as Chris fondled the omega’ erection. He was waiting for the scent of slick to show up.

In the two days since his Heat ended, they’d learned to be careful about penetration. Stiles would get wet for them, as always, but he was initiating sex more often than not out of emotional need long before his body caught up.

“Please,” Stiles whined impatiently as the minutes dragged on, “I need a knot,”

“I know, sweetheart,” Peter whispered sympathetically. He massaged Stiles’ hips and ass, kneading agreeably like he knew Stiles usually enjoyed.

Stiles rolled his body into their hands as he reached into Peter’s briefs. Peter’s cock was rock hard and ready at the first touch, reacting immediately as if to make up for the lack of omega slick with its blind enthusiasm.

“No need to rush, sweetheart,” Peter gently removed Stiles’ hand and kissed his palm, “Let’s get you wet for me first,”

Stiles’ face turned a splotchy pink and he avoided all eye contact as his hips stilled self-consciously. 

“Hey,” Chris murmured, “Come here, baby. Let us take care of you.”

At their gentle coxing, Stiles wiggled his way into straddling Chris. He buried his face in the curve of the alpha’s neck and shoulder almost immediately, but he was so very careful about it so as not to jostle Chris too bad and irritate any wounds.

Peter scooted closer, sliding a hand up the back of Stiles’ t-shirt to give his ass an encouraging squeeze.

“I don’t understand…” Stiles grumbled into Chris’ shoulder, “I just need it…”

“Shh,” Peter scratched his nails lightly up his back beneath the shirt.

“Give yourself some time,” Chris kissed his ear as he rubbed Stiles’ thighs in a similarly soothing motion. “We’re both here when you’re ready.”

Peter leaned in a nuzzled Stiles’ shoulder, breathing in the mixed scent of his mates greedily. He pulled back only when Chris gently elbowed him in the gut.

Chris caught his eye and lifted his chin toward the side door that lead to their garage. “I’ve got him. Could you check the floor near the ammo cabinet? There might be something out there that could help him.”

Peter raised a dubious brow. “In your… _professional_ inventory?”

Chris glared at him, unimpressed, “You’ll know it when you see it.”

With an extra firm squeeze to Stiles’ buttock, Peter left his mates on the couch to go search the garage. When he opened the door, he had to bite back to impulse to growl as he bristled; the scent of gunpowder, metal and leather, was in no way new or particularly unpleasant, but there was a lingering taint of aged human and foreign alphas on the stale air, even nearly a week after the abduction had taken place.

Peter was immediately and intensely aware that it was the first time he’d been home since Gerard had trespassed on his territory and attacked his mates. 

It wasn’t an overwhelming scent. Derek and Boyd had a heavier presence in the garage, from when they’d tried to clean and lock up after Peter, Braeden and Talia were already heading south. It didn’t matter. The part of Peter that wouldn’t be relaxing his guard till after Stiles began sleeping through the night and Chris’ bruises were long healed could not abide even the faintest trace of the enemy in his home.

Stalking around the garage, Peter swiped his palms over everything within reach. Scent marking none too casually. If it were a full moon, he’d probably be fighting the urge to shift and take a goddamn piss in the corner.

As it was though, Peter spent a good ten minutes growling under his breath as he paced the perimeter of the space. He wanted to open the overhead door and air it out, but there wasn’t time for that. He couldn’t leave Chris’ stock exposed and unguarded, and Stiles needed him to come back quickly.

Fortunately, even Peter’s basest animal instincts were prioritizing the omega right now. It helped that he literally stumbled over the item he’d been sent in there for. 

The deep red collar they’d ordered so long ago was on the concrete floor. Good God, but had it really only been a month since they’d fretted over the design? Since they’d found their precious omega?

Peter picked up the jewelry in unsteady hands. One measly month. Stiles had irrevocably changed their lives so much, and Peter already couldn’t imagine being without him.

He’d already come so close to losing him.

“Fuck,” Peter hissed under his breath.

His chest heaved as he took a few deep, fast breaths. His fingers passed over the smooth finish of the collar, his thumb caressing the curling letter’s of Chris’ name inscribed in gold. As he traced and retraced the beloved name on that all-important collar, his vision blurred.

There were no more enemies to fight. No more Heat to distract him. With his favorite people in the world safe and less than well in the next room, Peter crouched down on the concrete floor and cried.

~!~

It took two whole weeks for Chris’ broken bones and countless bruises to heal, even with the mild potions Talia bought from Deaton as a covert means of apology. They were good quality, expensive, and not entirely justified considering none of his wounds were fatal. Chris figured it was the absolute least Talia could do though.

She was also insistent on paying for Stiles’ therapy. Chris and Peter refused, of course, not wanting to risk giving her the slightest reason to think she had any right to Stiles’ medical information or treatment. It’d been a shock to them both how easily she’d accepted their decision, and then turned around and started wrote Peter a blank check for reimbursement.

Chris had torn it up right in front of her.

And now Derek was standing in his kitchen in the early Saturday morning, holding an envelope with Talia’s neat handwriting across the front, spelling out Stiles’ name.

“Not interested,” Chris said succinctly.

Derek sighed, and turned his stoic gaze to hold the envelope out to Peter.

Peter eyed it suspiciously, jaw tense and arms crossed.

“She doesn’t want you to leave the pack,” Derek said huffily. “She’s trying, Peter.”

“Too little, too late,” Chris added.

Derek spared him a glare before refocusing on Peter and changing tactics. “It’s addressed to Stiles anyway. Don’t tell me you’ve decided to start screening his communications with the outside world now,”

Peter snatched the envelope, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Derek started for the door. “Answer her calls,”

“Fuck off,” Chris scowled.

Derek’s next glare had more heat to it. “You and Stiles might be fine without a Pack, but Peter won’t be. Remember that before you decide to burn bridges. At least she’s trying.”

The truly irritating thing about it was, it was true. Talia Hale had a long way to go where appreciating omegas was concerned, but there was no doubt that she’d turned a corner. She’d been the one to drive them home from the hospital, enabling Stiles to all but smother himself in both his mates’ attention the entire way, and she hadn’t said more then five words to any of them. Since then, they’d seen her twice, without a hint of condescension or her usual entitled pushiness.

No one—and that meant _no one_ , not even among the pack—knew what she thought of Stiles now. She was intensely uncomfortable around him, existing in a closely contained cloud of shame and bewilderment. Chris had the strong impression that witnessing an omega save her life in such a brutal fashion had done irrevocable harm to her entire worldview. 

There was a certain irony there, he supposed. It was almost as if Talia was stuck dealing with the psychological fallout of Gerard’s death in Stiles’ place.

Chris figured that was only right, but he was admittedly biased. He’d discovered unprecedented depths of pettiness lately, where Talia was concerned.

“I hope he burns it,” Chris nodded at the envelope in his mate’s grasp before pointedly returning his attention to preparing coffee.

Peter sighed loudly. “We need to talk about this, Christopher.”

“Wait for Stiles to wake up,”

He knew that tone. He didn’t know what, exactly, they needed to talk about, but he knew the signs of Peter preparing for an uncomfortable disagreement.

Regardless of topic, Stiles would be involved in the discussion as well. They’d nearly caught themselves falling into the habit of deciding things without him during his Heat, when Stiles hadn’t been capable of interceding on his own behalf. The constant reminding each other as Stiles cried and struggled in the background had been a profound example of how justified the omega had been to start calling them out. Chris liked to think they were all better for it.

Peter sat down at the table with his own coffee and the envelope. They didn’t say another word until Stiles came trudging down the stairs half an hour later. He was wearing one of Peter’s shirts and a pair of briefs, his go-to sleep wear lately.

He was also already wearing his collar around his neck, despite his hair not even being finger-combed and the fact his alphas had drawn the line at allowing him to wear it to sleep. In the weeks since Gerard, Stiles only ever took it off to shower and sleep. The collar had become something of a security blanket for him.

“Is that coffee?” Stiles yawned as he made a beeline for Peter.

“It is,” Peter reached out to cup the boy’s hip as he came close, hugging him as Stiles stole his mug for a sip.

“I already poured you one,” Chris assured, carrying two more over.

Peter turned his head to nuzzle Stiles’ tummy through the sleep shirt, going so far as to growl and nibble at him.

Stiles gasped, just the perfect little hitch of his breath that ordinarily meant arousal. Chris didn’t need a wolf’s nose to know that wasn’t quite the omega’s reaction now; the expression on his face and the way he stroked Peter’s hair wasn’t amorous, but deeply, achingly wistful, as if he didn’t quite believe he could have him at all.

Stiles’ therapist assured them it would fade as Stiles regained confidence that his mate Bonds were solid and whole. It would just take time. Unlike his alphas, the omega still needed to mourn and appreciate the experience of losing a mate before he could fully accept that Peter was still in his life and, by extension, that his Bond to Chris was also reliable.

Knowing it was a normal reaction didn’t make it any less heartbreaking to witness.

“You alright?” Stiles tilted his head at him quizzically, a soft frown on his beautiful face.

Chris nodded and held out a hand.

Wordlessly, Stiles came to him. Eager. Sweet. Gentle. The quintessentially perfect omega. He slid onto Chris thigh like he belonged there, one arm around Chris’ shoulders as he kissed the alpha’s cheek.

“What’s wrong, alpha mine?” Stiles prompted softly.

Chris kissed the underside of his chin, his beard gently scratching the collar, “Nothing.”

“Liar,” Peter smirked, watching them shrewdly.

Chris hugged his omega loosely around the waist and held Peter’s eye as he leaned his face against Stiles’ throat. “I just love you. Both of you.”

He saw Peter’s smirk soften a moment before the werewolf reached out with both hands to grip Stiles’ should and Chris’ wrist. “Yes. And I love you.”

Stiles sat quiet, absently stroking the beard beside Chris’ ear.

Chris wasn’t disappointed. Not really. He understood plenty that Stiles was working through too much to fully appreciate whether he loved them already or not. And that was okay. They were mated still, and he and Peter would be patient and ready whenever the time came that he felt comfortable enough to tell them how he felt.

He tried not to fixate too much on how desperately hopeful he was looking forward to that day.

Chris mentally shook himself and physically patted Stiles’ leg to call all their attention. “So. What do we need to talk about?”

Stiles straightened in unwarranted alarm, stiffening on his lap. “We need to talk about something?”

“It’s alright,” Peter soothed.

At the same time, Chris rubbed the boy’s back apologetically and said, “Relax. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Stiles did not relax. Not even a little bit.

Peter sighed, giving up on trying to ease the omega with simple platitudes. He slid the envelope across the table decisively, “Talia sent this for you. We haven’t looked at it.”

Stiles picked it up cautiously, and Chris determinedly narrowed his attention to his coffee as the omega pulled out a sheet of paper and began reading silently. Thankfully, the omega was quick about it, and lowered the page even before Chris lowered his mug.

Stiles glanced between him and Peter with a suspiciously neutral expression.

“You can tell us what it says if you want,” Peter said mildly. “Or keep it to yourself. Whatever you’d prefer.”

“I can go light the pit,” Chris suggested, “and you can burn it, if you’d rather.”

Peter smirked, “That’s what I did with the last thing she had delivered to us.”

“Tempting, but I think I’ll hold onto it for now. You never know when you might need potential blackmail material.” Stiles gave them a forced grin that only hinted at the mischievousness he was capable of. Then he folded the page back into its envelope and hesitantly prompted, “…Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

They both looked to Peter expectantly.

Peter’s jaw tensed as he tapped his fingers on the table.

“Whatever it is, just spit it out,” Chris encouraged with little of his usual patience.

Not unexpectedly, Peter sighed: “Talia,”

Chris grunted in noncommittal acknowledgement.

Stiles shifted a little, eyes on his lap where he held the envelope.

“Despite everything that’s happened,” Peter said stiffly, “Talia isn’t asking me to leave the pack. But I would be lying if I said the option hasn’t occurred to me.”

Stiles’ voice gave nothing away as he asked, “Is that what you want, Peter?”

Peter didn’t immediately answer. He glared down at his hand, sprouting claws and studying them distractedly.

“You need a pack,” Chris reiterated the hard fact, deadpan. “How do you feel about searching for a new one?”

“It’s not ideal,” Peter admitted, “But I think we’ve proven Talia’s isn’t necessarily the best fit for us. For our… family.”

Stiles cleared his throat, eyes staring out the window at the fire pit in thought. “What are our options then?”

They fell silent as they all thought on it.

Chris was the first to make a suggestion. “We could reach out to Laura’s pack. They don’t have a problem with Braeden, and she can put in a good word for me with the Pack Leader.”

Peter nodded. “That might be our best option. The only other pack I can think of you’d give us the time of day would be Deucalion’s, and he’s….”

Chris caught his eye and nodded. “I would rather put up with Talia any day than be responsible for bringing an omega into his pack.”

“Agreed.”

“Okay…” Stiles said slowly, “I don’t know the dude, but I’ll take your word for it. So that’s it, then? We can appeal to Braeden and Laura’s pack or we can stay put?”

Peter nodded once. “If we want,”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed on the werewolf. “Okay. What do _you_ want?”

Peter looked at each other them, a frown furrowing his brow and for once Chris had the uncomfortable thought that the wolf’s age was finally starting to catch up to him, he looked so goddamn worn down. He hated the worry lines appearing on his forehead, the unhappy crinkle of the minor lines near his eyes.

“He wants to stay,” Chris murmured softly to Stiles, to himself.

Peter shook his head gently. “It doesn’t matter,”

“Yes. It does.”

“Not as much as you do,” Peter gestured to both of them emphatically. “The two of you are more important than my nostalgia for my childhood pack has been in a long time. I want to do what is best for us and our happiness.”

“What about your job?” Stiles asked, his tone almost argumentative.

Peter shrugged, “My partners won’t need much persuading to buy me out. And other places need lawyers too.”

Stiles nudged Chris. “The house?”

Chris rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder and gave a sad sigh. “I’ll miss it, but we can sell. Maybe even take the fire pit with us.”

Truly though, the idea of leaving the house he and Peter had invested so much energy and dreaming into stung. This wasn’t just the house with the perfect backyard, or the house he’d had outfitted with the appropriate security and ample storage for his business. This was the house they had bought intending to raise a family.

This was the house they’d chosen specifically for its ability to meet their needs. There was a degree of valuable privacy from the pack, while they were still near enough to benefit from the Pack’s protection and support.

They had needed that protection and support last week. Despite everything, Talia had come through for them.

“I really like our house,” Stiles said calmly, unassuming as he fiddled with his envelope.

Chris kissed his forehead. “Me too.”

“Same here,” Peter agreed as he grasped Stiles’ wrist.

Stiles met the wolf’s eye and Chris felt his slender body sway as he let go of so much tension. “And you love your pack,”

Peter nodded. “Not as much as I love you,”

“I know,” Stiles leaned forward to kiss him sweetly. “But you need them just as much.”

“I…” Peter faltered, meeting Chris gaze over the boy’s shoulder.

Chris thought he understood the conflict in his lover’s eyes. Empathized, to a point, even. But as problematic as Peter’s relationship with his sister was, it simply wasn’t comparable to the abuse that had driven a Chris from his own family so many years ago.

In fact, that same abuse had helped steer him into the arms of his current family.

At the end of the day, Peter was a werewolf and Chris and Stiles both had mated him with a full appreciation for his needs as such. Peter needed a pack, and they needed Peter.

“Do you even know Laura’s Pack Alpha’s name?” Stiles fairly sneered, like the entire idea was ludicrous to begin with.

And really, it was as simple as that.

~!~

Nothing was all that simple. Not a damn thing.

Stiles didn’t regret choosing to stay with the Hale Pack, to be precise. Truly. He appreciated them more with every passing day, from Isaac’s dry humor to Erica’s absurd flirtation, and more besides. He found it intensely comforting, rather than stifling, to know that at any given time, one of them was always within earshot. And it wasn’t like he was being babysat either, no, no, no; turns out, being kidnapped and sort-of omega trafficked had a way of making a guy thankful for paranoid alphas and overbearing packmates.

Indeed, he didn’t even find it overbearing, he rather enjoyed the company. When his alphas were busy, Stiles tended to get bored, and a bored Stiles was an antsy Stiles, and an antsy Stiles was no good for anyone.

But also…. Stiles maybe, sorta, kinda, hated the fact he felt more dependent then ever on everyone around him. The Pack, specifically. Especially any and all alphas in it.

Except Talia. Fuck Talia. She didn’t know how to treat him anymore, and instead of just figuring it out, she just made Stiles more and more self-conscious. Like Chris, he doubted he would ever like Talia.

The rest of the pack, though… the rest were going to get sick of him before much longer.

“You know. _Technically_ ,” Stiles said conversationally to Derek one afternoon over lunch, “I don’t think I’m even allowed to go out on my own. Which is probably for the best,”

Derek paused, his sandwich half-way to his mouth. “What the hell are you on about now?”

Stiles waved his scowling concern away with a napkin, “I’m just saying, Deaton and Morrell—”

“Who?”

“My therapist. Jesus, dude, keep up.” Stiles took another bite of his own philly cheesesteak and said through the mouthful, “Anyway, the thing is, I’m totally strong, independent omega who don’t need no alpha—not really, but you know what I mean—”

“Nope.”

“My point is,” Stiles talked over him, undeterred, “the professional opinion is that I’ll probably still be jumping at shadows and having nightmares at least until after my next Heat. I guess the theory is that another Heat will prove to my omega hindbrain that everything really is okay and the constant vigilance isn’t really necessary.”

“Uh-hu….?” Derek stared at him, dutifully nodding along.

Stiles took another eager bit and kept up the explanation. “Yeah, so until then, it’s pretty much to be expected that I’d should have someone I trust at my back at all times. You know, as a safety precaution in case I have an anxiety attack. I’m just saying, it makes sense why I’ve calling you or the betas every time I’m left to my own devices for five minutes. God knows I’d never hear the end of it if I had psychotic break just because I wanted some Jersey Mikes and didn’t bring back up.”

Derek set his sandwich down, frowning at Stiles seriously. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious.”

Stiles blinked back at him, a bellpepper hanging out of his mouth. “… I don’t joke about mental health, dude. Not cool.”

Derek nodded to himself, jaw tight. “Okay.”

“Yeah, so like I as saying:” Stiles shrugged, “Thanks for the help, but it won’t be like this forever or anything. Like, two more weeks, tops. My next Heat will, ironically, act as a major chill pill, and you and the betas can get back to your regular lives while learn to operate independently again.”

Derek didn’t look particularly reassured. “I don’t think it works that way…”

“Sure it does,” Stiles liked cheese and mayo off his finger cheekily, “Just ask my therapist.”

“This the same shrink who told you to start keeping a journal?”

“Yep! Hey, you were actually listening!” Stiles gaped, “Aw! Derek, you really do care!”

Derek rolled his eyes in a way so reminiscent of Peter than it made Stiles’ chest seize with a rush of desperate longing for his mate. Seriously, he almost started crying. His therapist assured him the peculiar mate-specific bouts of emotion were totally normal too. Stiles was still working on believing her.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek told him with a shake of his head that was almost fond.

“Gee, love you too, buddy,”

“We’ll keep doing this until you don’t need it anymore,”

Stiles didn’t answer. Well, shit.

“Eat your damn food.”

“Fine,” Stiles tugged his back of chips closer, with far less pep and attitude. Generally speaking, he’d learned that Derek was a safe bet for externally processing shit without meaningful commentary. The unexpected verbal support was… well. Unexpected. Uncomfortable even.

Derek seemed to decided Stiles was sufficiently preoccupied and picked up his sandwich again. In the time it took him to scarf down the sub, Stiles had nibbled through three chips and convinced himself Jersey Mikes would be about a hundred times yummier if Chris were with him instead.

“So how is it coming along?” Derek prompted stiffly as he balled up the sandwich wrapper.

“Huh?”

“The journaling.”

“Oh. Yeah…” Stiles gave a half-hearted shrug. “It’s alright. I mean, I like it, but I’m pretty sure I missed the point of the whole exercise.”

“What do you mean?”

“I let Morrell read it,” Stiles told himself to shut up as his face warmed, but the words just kept coming, “I didn’t have to, but she offered to read it instead of making me talk about… well. Anyway. It was supposed to be cathartic or some shit, to work through how I feel about what happened, the parts I can remember and the parts I’ve been told about, but… It didn’t really work.”

“Maybe you just need practice,”

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles snorted, “It made her laugh, though, so I’m pretty sure I went wrong somewhere. She expected to read about my deepest, darkest moments, and instead she got, and I quote: _something that reads like a comedic drama aimed at middle-age housewives_.”

Derek thought about that as Stiles cackled at himself. He just kept pictures Morrell’s careful composure cracking intermittently as she read with the occasional involuntary snicker. For a normally so serene woman, she had certainly seemed to enjoy reading his bitchy-omega diary entry.

“Maybe you should write a blog.”

Stiles choked on his next guffaw. “What on earth would I write a blog about?”

Derek shrugged. “Shit that appeals to middle-aged housewives, I guess. You enjoy it, right?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Then maybe that’s catharsis enough.”

Stiles sat back in his chair, really thinking that one over. “I’ll be damned. Derek Hale, you are secretly wise, aren’t you?”

The alpha looked genuinely insulted.

Stiles grinned widely and pulled out his phone, the wheels in his brain spinning fast.

Derek’s expression turned suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Peter and Chris.” Stiles felt his grin widen further, and for a moment he felt more like himself than he had in weeks. “And your sister.”

Derek’s frown turned into a glare. “Texting them _what_?”

His was an evil laugh. Mwahahahaha. “Oh, nothing. You know, just sharing the news that our dear sourwolf has evolved to my number one muse and cheerleader.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Whatever you’re going on about, I want nothing to do with it.”

“Too late. You are the instigator. The source of my inspiration!”

“God, shoot me. For what!?”

“For my blog, of course.”

“No thanks,”

“Ooooh! We should brainstorm! Help me think of a name!”

“No.”

“You have to, you’re my muse,”

“No. Peter and Chris can be your muses.”

“Too bad, you already have the job. Come on, it was your idea! Now give me title!”

“No,”

“Ah-ha! I got it! Damn, you’re good.” Stiles held his hands up like he was brandishing a grand banner, “We’ll call it _The Trials and Tribulations of the Modern Omega_!”

“You’re on your own with that.”

“Ooooh! No, how about… One Omega among Asshole Alphas! Oh, I love that! Think of logo design opportunities!?”

“I am not involved—”

“Derek? Derek, wait! You’re not going to leave me here!? A lone, sitting on a multi-mullion dollar blog idea!? Derek!”


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally DONE! Yay!   
> Just in case anyone's curious, this will probably be my last full-length fanfic for a while. I'm going to be focusing on my original stuff, and hopefully publishing a book within the next year. Fanfiction has been a wildly useful and sustaining tool for me to practice writing and just have fun, and I really do attribute a lot of my growth as a writer to fanfiction and its community.   
> If the COVID-19 situation has taught me anything, it's that there's never a better time to pursue my dreams than right now. So I'm off to write a book. Probably something equally naughty and heart-heavy as this fic was, hopefully, but you know.... edited and beta read. lol. Wish me luck!

One Year Later

Stiles never exactly told anyone about the blog. Well, he did, of course he did, he mentioned it often, in fact. It wasn’t his fault that no one took him seriously.

(In case anyone found it pertinent: apparently the best way to keep a secret from werewolves was to be so upfront about it that they all assumed it was a running joke)

It helped that Derek’s adamant denial when it came to accepting his ongoing role as Stiles’ muse was a source of great hilarity to the pack at large. Even Talia got a chuckle out of it. It was apparently reason enough for everyone to assume Stiles was still picking on him for the laughs.

Which he was. He just wasn’t the only alpha being picked on. And the pack was far from the only people privy to the joke.

Peter and Chris knew he was writing. Occasionally, he even read some of it aloud, usually to his mates’ great enjoyment. If he never went out of his way to insist his alphas read it for themselves on the World Wide Web, and thus realize Stiles truly was posting said writing for the masses to enjoy, than that was no one’s business but his own.

It was wonderful. He loved it, really. Over a year after mating, and Stiles had stumbled onto his Calling. Truly. The fact it was the result of serious trauma and a smorgasbord of quirky coincidences was honestly rather befitting.

Stiles loved his blog. _The Troubles with being Coveted: Life as an Omega Among Alphas_.

A good several thousand betas and, by this point, a significant portion of the modern omega populace seemed to love it too.

He even had a small, unnecessary but appreciated income from it. And it was fun.

It kept his attention focused and kept him out of everybody’s hair. The pack at large didn’t seem too interested in digging for more information about Stiles’ “writing.” Chris kept genuinely trying to encourage him to write a book, and from that conversation Stiles realized the alpha truly had no idea he’d long since graduated from mere journaling. Peter too, apparently, though he was equally supportive.

And then Laura heard from a beta friend about an omega who wouldn’t stop ranting and raving about a blog. Specifically, a blog written “for omegas, by an omega.”

“I mean… not really,” Stiles admitted to her on the phone one regular old Tuesday morning. “I didn’t write it for anyone, really. It was just for fun,”

“It was just brilliant, is what it is,” Laura corrected.

Stiles threw his head back and laughed. Loud. Peter was at the office and Chris had an interview downtown with a local security firm. He had the place to himself, and Stiles never really could abide too much quiet. He still couldn’t abide being alone in the big house much either, but video chats and writing were decent distractions in a pinch.

He had been thinking about getting a dog, but certain new developments meant it wasn’t happening any time soon.

For example, this! Laura, specifically, becoming one of his fans. He wouldn’t want to raise a puppy in the chaos that would doubtless unfold now that he had to field the pack’s uncorked flood of questions and opinions and reactions. He daydreamed about it every now and then, about life once they knew Stiles really _had_ been blogging about them just as he kept threatening to do over the past few months.

“I can’t believe you told the entire world that Peter still needs a lullaby to fall asleep.” Laura cackled gleefully.

Stiles snickered, “Yeah… well, I did warn him not to keep eating the last brownies every time I made a batch. Just because the rest of this household doesn’t have his supernatural metabolism, does not give him the right to regularly imbibe more than his fair share of baked goods.”

Besides, Stiles was nothing if not fully truthful (well, mostly), and he’d clarified that Peter only hummed folk music lullabies to himself in order to sleep _on occasion_ , usually when in the middle of a particularly harrowing case at work. Stiles may have also admitted on the blog that it gave him the best dreams, of Peter singing the tunes to their baby one day. He may or may not have said as much to Chris once as well. The point was, it was really, very endearing, not embarrassing.

Unsurprisingly, his [mostly omega] readers thought so too.

Maybe now that the cat was out of the bag, Stiles would finally be able to give into their demands for pictures of the precious alphas in his life. Then again… maybe he best not. More than half his readers were already in love with Peter or Derek, and the other half might be just a little too invested in the idea of spilling mountain ash in Talia’s path if they saw her on the street.

God, he loved the comment threads on the internet.

“You better hope Derek never reads this,” Laura continued joyously, “If he knew you actually posted, in detail, about that time Peter got him drunk—My God, Stiles. Braeden and I didn’t even know he said that to you!”

Stiles gave a dramatically wistful sigh, “You know, for a moment there, I really felt like his uncle through more than mating. I mean… he was really very torn up about it. I was touched.”

“You were… ? Stiles. _Stiles_ ,” He could just imagine her shaking her head and pinching her nose, “He whined to you about how jealous he was that Peter and Chris had an omega. Not you, just any omega.”

“He just wants to be loved, Laura.” Stiles chided, but he couldn’t quite keep the humor out of his voice.

In truth, it had been an emotional moment. Derek had been near tears as he expressed to him and Peter how desperately he wanted an omega mate, to cherish the way Peter and Chris did Stiles. If Stiles had gotten a little wet-eyed as well, that was only fair. He’d admitted as much on the blog.

“And when are you going to write about me!?” Laura demanded suddenly. “You better keep it flattering, and give me a truly epic codename!”

Stiles sighed, “You, my dear Laura, are not an alpha. Why would I write about your adorableness?”

“Fair point. It would interrupt the theme. Although, if you’re expecting me to believe you’ve been writing about my mother for being adorable, I’m calling bullshit.”

Stiles hummed innocently “No idea what you’re talking about.” All things considered, he’d been careful not to let his dislike of Talia make her look too bad. She was the leader of the pack, after all.

Laura stopped laughed. “Bull. Shit. If you wanted to have the chance to plead ignorance, you should have given her a different code name,”

“Hey, now,” He said, feigning offence, “BossBitch is a totally respectable and empowering alias. And yes, it also happens to be true. In various interpretations.”

“You think you’re so clever…”

“I am clever. And so is BossBitch. She has her moments.” Because truly, he’d been careful to make sure Talia got some positive PR on the blog after the first anonymous haters started coming out of the woodwork. Not much—every story needed an antagonist, every all—but some. “Hehe. See what I did there?”

“Classy.”

“I try.” Stiles stuck the phone on the counter, speaker on, so he could go rummaging through the fridge for a snack.

“Seriously though,” Laura’s voice followed him past the jug of milk and last night’s leftover pasta. He was going straight for Chris’ precious tapioca pudding, and he didn’t even feel bad about it. “Braeden and I were up all night reading it. This is good shit, Stiles.”

“Course it is,” Stiles agreed promptly, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been doing jack-all else for months now, the least I can manage is to make my shit _good_ ,”

“Don’t be an ass. You know what I mean. I’m giving you a compliment.”

“Well what am I supposed to do with that!?” Stiles smacked the fridge door closed with a hint of genuine irritation.

Laura snorted. “I know for a fact, you know how to take a compliment. Lord knows Peter and Chris shower you with them enough, it’s a wonder your ego’s not the size of your blog’s following.”

Stiles stuck a spoon in his mouth and gave a salacious giggle, “Dude. Not the same standard at all. You do not want to know how I reply to their compliments.”

“Oh?” Laura said with mock innocence, “You mean like inappropriate blowjobs in public, high traffic areas such as, oh, let’s say… uh, Disney fucking Land!?”

Stiles gaped at the phone, “How did you know!?”

“You wrote about it on the fucking internet!”

“Obviously. No, I mean that it was Disney Land? I did all sorts of research to make sure I could write about it without getting us banned or fined after the fact, and it only works if no one knows which specific park was desecrated.”

“Relax, your witty little codenames and general caution are more than enough smokescreen. The only reason I figured it out was because I remember Peter bragging about it when our Baby Tour happened to coincide with a Full Moon Run.”

“Oh yeah!” Stiles laughed as he remembered the night in question. He’d completely forgotten that Peter had shared that story with some of the pack that night, not out of any sense of shame or anything like that though. Stiles had been decidedly distracted, dancing away the night with Laura’s little bundle of joy, Annabeth, and desperately wishing she was his.

That full moon had occurred recently and taken place in the short window between Stiles’ last Depo shot likely clearing his system and the next. He’d been outrageously hormonal those few days, to the point Chris and Peter wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole for fear of triggering a Heat that might actually catch.

It didn’t happen, of course, and Stiles got his next shot while outrageously horny, but without issue, to much relief and an unexpected degree of disappointment.

That was about three months ago, actually. Which made a sense. Stiles’ next appointment with Deaton was already scheduled for next week. Which reminded him...

“Hey, Laura?”

Instantly, Laura’s voice dropped as she responded to the sudden gravity in his. “What’s up?”

“I’m glad you like the blog, but…” Stiles winced, hoping he wasn’t making a serious tactical misjudgment, “could you like… not tell anyone in the pack just yet? Just for like… twenty for hours.”

To her credit, Laura sounded concerned more than suspicious. “Okay… But, Stiles… all joking aside, you know they’ll be supportive, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. Of course, it’s just,” he bit his lip to keep from rambling. “Tell you what, I’ll give you an honorary mention on _Coveted_ if you promise to wait till after the next post.”

“… Why?”

“You’ll understand when you read my next post.”

“… And if I don’t agree?” she said, suspicious and self-important.

Stiles kept his own voice sweet as he informed her: “Oh, I’ll still mention you, but I make no promises you’ll like your codename.”

“Fine. Deal,”

Not long after that, Stiles ended the call, grabbed a second tapioca, and hustled to his computer. He’d been dragging his feet, agonizing about this latest post for days now. It was well past time to get it done and say what he wanted to say, on his terms and in his own way.

Look at this omega go, all this time later and he was still finding ways to exercise his own power. His therapist would be so proud when he told her next week.

~!~

Chris got home that afternoon and went directly to the garage. He didn’t go to greet Stiles. Not yet. He just needed another minute of quiet to process first.

He got the job.

He knew he would. His skills as a Hunter and independent weapons seller went a long way toward making him an obvious choice for a combat trainer. It was a good fit. He was confident about it. They even provided a easy solution as to what to do with a good bit of his remaining inventory.

It still rankled though.

He’d been home nearly twenty minutes when Stiles came and found him.

“What’s wrong, Chris?” the omega frowned as he stepped into the welcoming circle of Chris’ arms.

“Nothing,” Chris promised quietly. “I’m just going to miss being my own boss, I think. I’ll get over it.”

Stiles pulled back a little, blinking excitedly. “Oh my god! You got the job!?”

Chris laughed and felt his chest puff up just a little despite himself. Stiles had that effect on him, with all his limitless enthusiasm and instant encouragement.

“That’s great!” Stiles bounced in his arms, throwing his hands up then pulling at Chris’ shoulders for a celebratory kiss.

Chris smiled softly against Stiles’ exuberant grin. “Yeah. It’ll be a good change. I’ll have fewer work hours and more time for you.”

Stiles bit his lip, flushing almost bashfully. “Yeah? I like the sound of that.”

“Good,” Chris scratched the back of his head and glanced around at all the weapons safes lining the walls.

Stiles stepped close again, like he always did every chance he could get, and rubbed his hands up and down the alpha’s arms soothingly. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yeah. Not the job specifically, but the situation.” Chris sighed and kissed the tip of his omega’s nose playfully, “This was going to happen eventually, anyway. I’ve always known Peter wouldn’t raise a kid with an armory in the house, especially not when there’s such a high chance of our kids being human.”

Stiles nodded in understanding. “And now here I am…”

“Now here you are,” Chris repeated appreciatively.

“Smart thinking,” Stiles admitted, surveying Chris’ professional space himself now. “Hmm. Maybe we could turn it into a playroom!?”

Chris laughed. “Maybe. Fortunately, we have a few years to figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles kissed him sweetly, and it was almost enough to banish the last of Chris’ presumptive nostalgia. “Come on, alpha mine. I want steak and curly fries for dinner, and you deserve them.”

Laughing, Chris let his omega take him by the hand and lead him inside. It was surprisingly easy to turn his back to the garage then, especially with Stiles wiggling his hips just so right in front of him.

“I deserve steak and curly fries, huh?” he purred, “What else do I deserve, omega?”

~!~

Peter abandoned the office a full hour early so he could rush home, Cora yelling after him in alarm at his sudden departure. He made it home in a record ten minutes, flat, with Talia’s shrill shrieking over the phone still ringing in his ear. Despite those ten minutes, Peter’s brain was still screeched to a terrified, astonished, hopeful halt. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

He damn near ripped the front door off it’s hinges.

He found his mates upstairs in bed. Well, Stiles was in bed. Chris was kneeling on the floor, dutifully working their omega over with his mouth.

Peter floundered. The sight and smell before him acted as an effective brick wall, suddenly and damnably erected directly in his path. Truly, he’d been so focused on confronting his mates about why Talia had called him in a hissy, he hadn’t paid any attention to the heavy scent of alpha musk and omega sweetness filtering throughout their home.

The immediate and overwhelming force of his own arousal was dizzying in light of his frantic emotions.

“A-alpha!” Stiles whined, arching into Chris’ restraining hold.

The scent of the omega’s release was so heavy on Peter’s tongue, he could almost taste it as vividly as Chris doubtlessly could in actuality. Like a sledgehammer to the gut, Peter was hit by the soul-deep certainty that he was well and truly enamored by the beautiful boy. Irrevocably besotted. Whipped.

It was the only explanation for why he wasn’t even mad.

Ah, but Stiles didn’t need to know that. Not just yet, anyway. Otherwise, the brat would walk all over him… well, more than he already did.

So Peter checked himself, smoothed down his shirt and tie, and leaned casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed before clearing his throat.

“I see you’ve started celebrating without me,”

Chris lifted his head with an envious slurping, making the omega shudder. The human alpha turned his head to smirk at Peter before fully spinning on his knees to dump himself on his ass against the side of the bed. His cock was half hard, but tellingly wet and freshly spent. Nevertheless, Chris gave Peter an appreciative once over before asking amusedly:

“What are we supposed to celebrating, exactly?”

“Ugh,” Stiles barely managed to raise his head off the bed to give Peter wry grin. “Can we talk about this later? Like, after my brain comes back online?”

Chris satisfied smirk started to melt into a confused frown as he glanced up at the omega. “Talk about what?”

Peter raised an expectant brow at Stiles. “Oh? You didn’t tell him either, then?”

Stiles’ head flopped back onto the mattress with a long-suffering groan.

Chris pushed off the floor and got to his feet, hands on his fetchingly naked hips as he glared between the two of them. Peter made sure to direct Chris’ creeping displeasure toward their young mate with a pointed nod.

“Okay. What’s going on? What do the two of you know that I don’t?”

Peter deftly pulled his smartphone from his pocket. “Yes, Stiles. Do tell. Just what _is_ going on.”

Stiles gave a dramatic moan as he levied himself up, reclining back on his elbows. He was all slender, gloriously pale flesh, still flushed from exertion and glistening with sweat and plenty of other bodily fluids besides.

It was most distracting, especially with the added knowledge Talia had brought to his attention. His fucking sister.

“You saw?” Stiles asked, mischief in his eyes.

Peter already had the blog pulled up on his phone as he turned it around to wave it at the room. “Indeed,”

“Saw what?” Chris demanded, starting to get peeved the longer his curiosity was left to soil the post-coital lull.

Peter handed him the phone. He watched, honestly quite amusedly, as Chris read and an incredulous sort of dawning comprehension began to chase the frown from his face.

“The Troubles,” Chris read slowly, almost disbelievingly, “with being Coveted?”

Stiles gave a long-suffering sigh as he lay back down, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “I told you I was writing a blog.”

Chris stared at him, “You said Derek told you, you should write a blog…?”

“Yeah. Turns out it was a good idea,” Stiles shrugged, “It’s fun, and it pays alright, considering we’re the exact opposite of dependent on my income,”

Peter and Chris shared a wide-eyed look. In the fifteen or so minutes that Peter had known about the blog, he honestly hadn’t put it together that it might be any thing more than a gag.

“ _This_ ,” Peter jabbed a finger at the phone in Chris’ hand, “is the part-time job you’ve been doing from home?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah. I mean, come on: I’ve pretty much said as much. Like… Literally every time I’m on the computer and you ask me what I’m doing,”

“Working,” Chris muttered, supplying the answer, “Or writing.”

Stiles nodded, satisfied. “Same thing.”

Chris was staring at the screen, and Peter saw the bemused expression the moment he began reading enough to catch pertinent details.

“Wait… who is… am I… SilverFox?”

Peter snorted. He couldn’t help it.

Stiles giggled. He probably could have helped it, but Peter bet he’d chosen not to, the brat.

Both of Chris’ eyebrows went up toward his hairline. He gaped at Peter. “And you’re…?”

“TopDog? Most definitely,” Peter didn’t mean to preen, it just sort of happened.

“Huh,” Chris shrugged as if this acceptable after another moment of thought. His confusion had mostly given way to baffled amusement, but a fresh frown was already assuming priority as he continued reading.

When his eyes and mouth widened alarmingly, Peter knew he’d gotten to the heart of the blog post.

So did Stiles. The omega sat up with a jaunty bounce across the mattress and shot Peter a wink passed Chris’ stunned form.

“Wait….” Chris said slowly, glancing between them rapidly before returning his gaping face toward the screen.

Stiles snickered, very pleased with himself. “So yeah… Surprise!”

Chris caught Peter’s eye almost desperately. “Is this for real?”

Peter lifted a single shoulder. “Apparently. Though I must say, sweetheart,” he aimed his best glare at the omega, “When we said the decision was in entirely in your hands, this was not exactly what we had in mind.”

Chris turned his full attention on the omega, and even from the doorway Peter could smell the excitement and pure terror rushing from him in waves. Peter could certainly relate.

“For real?” Chris asked, pleaded almost. “You’re really ready?”

Stiles shoved his hands between his knees and blushed beautifully. “Yeah. Definitely. Yeah, I mean…. I’ve kind of been thinking about it constantly ever since Annabeth came to visit. And I know you’ve been ready since even before then, so…. Yeah.”

Peter wanted to launch himself across the room so he could thoroughly scent mark his little mate. The urge was almost overwhelming, as if his stupid mutt hindbrain had only been waiting for confirmation from the omega’s own lips. But Peter was nothing if not composed.

He pushed off the door frame and stalked to Chris’ side. The two of them loomed over the omega, and it was both infuriating and delightful that the boy’s self-satisfied grin only widened.

“So,” Peter said cautiously, “you decided the whole world should know even before we did that you were ready to try for a baby?”

Stiles blinked innocently at them. “But you are my whole world, my alphas.”

Peter’s phone was nearly swallowed by Chris’ fist as he shook it at the omega with a hysterical grin on his face. “Oh, you little shit…”

Once again, Peter thought he understood the other alpha only too well. He wanted to be mad, really he did, but it just wasn’t important next to starburst of realization that Stiles’ next Heat would be so… productive. Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever been so excited and moved and unprepared in his life.

However. _However_ , a point had to be made here.

“I’m happy with your decision, Stiles,” Peter said, somehow managing to keep a straight face even as Chris succumbed to schoolboy awe beside him, “But I’m pissed about the very public announcement.”

The brat didn’t even have the decency to wince or even blush. Stiles met his eye unimpressed, “You are not,”

“…No,” Damn the boy and his omega wiles, “but I should be.”

Stiles popped to his feet and between one breath and the next he’d laid a loud, smacking kiss on each alpha’s cheek.

“But you’re not,” Stiles sang as he slipped between them and skipped out of the room, yelling over his shoulder: “because you, alpha mine, are a closeted sap who’s going to give me a five minute head start before coming after me for telling the internet you let me tie you up in breeding bench restraints whenever I feel the urge.”

Peter felt himself go pale, possibly as pale as Chris when he turned to meet his panicked expression.

Christopher shook his head as he began scrolling through the blog. “No...”

“No way,” Peter agreed, determinedly, “He did not say anything about Talia’s fucking breeding bench on an omega lifestyle blog…”

Chris went still, his thumb poised over the screen. “Actually…”

Peter didn’t wait to hear more.

Stiles did not get his five-minute head start. What he got, was a thorough knotting on the back lawn and a deliciously sore bruise on his ass in the shape of Peter’s hand.

And still, no one was mad. It was a really good night for all of them.


End file.
